


Embrace The Darkest Night, Save Me From The Light

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: Down Foreverdark Woods Trail [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality Spectrum, Bigotry & Prejudice, Billy and Ned are asexual and happily married, Canon Divergence Characters, Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial of Feelings, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fear, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, Group Therapy, Guilt, Hate, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Love, Loving Marriage, Lowbones, M/M, Married Life, Massage, Medication, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Personal Assistent Anne Bonny, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape Culture, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Same-Sex Marriage, Service Dogs, Shame, Sorrow, Therapy, Trust, Yoga, asexual marriage, physiotherapy, silverflint, slow progress, supportive husband, vengeance, vengeful thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 34,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: This is part four of the freestanding follow-up to the modern AU "Aces Of Spades And Hearts" series, that takes place about three years after Billy's and Ned's wedding in "At Ends Of Nights" (part 7 of "Aces...").Ned is not the villain here, but a victim of gang rape and is on the very shaky road to recovery and his husband Billy knows that his ex boyfriend Woodes Rogers was one of the rapists."Embrace The Darkest Night, Save Me From The Light" is part four and continues a couple of days after "On The Lap Of The Waves", where Ned is very slowly making progress towards recovery. The title is from Keep Of Kalessin's "Dark As Moonless Night".I will use both 1st and 3rd person pov with both Billy and Ned. Each chapter will be named with the pov. I also want to point out that this is VERY canon divergent when it comes to the characters, especially Ned Low. Wipe out the image of him as a cruel sadist.If you're a fan of History Channel's "Vikings" and remember Tadhg Murphy's role Arne, or have seen this awesome actor in another role than Ned Low, "my" Ned will be far closer to those than the Ned Low character. And Billy is definately not a "Black Sails season 4 Billy".





	1. Ned (1st person)

It goes quite well. It’s not too cold and with a thick cardigan underneath, I can wear my spring jacket. I would’ve wanted a hat, but only toddlers and old people wear hats in May and I rather freeze a little than being stared at. The thin scarf will do.  
  
I’ve not been downtown since January, if you don’t count waiting in the car outside Tea Amo, which I fucking don’t. The short walks with Maread and the fact that I actually eat almost like a normal person – at least I don’t puke anymore – has given me a little more strenght and energy though. I don’t feel like I’m about to pass out on the sidewalk and that’s something. What’s less good, is all the people, especially kids, pointing at Maread. _Look, maw, a doggie! You see the dog overthere? Aw, it’s so cute!_ Yeah, but you’re not, kiddo/teenie/mommy, so fuck off. Good thing I have a PCA who can throw more hostile looks at people than me and Billy combined.  
  
My husband is right now focused on not focusing on me, which is easier said than done. It’s tiresome, but I’m able to look past that a bit more now. Of course he’s worried, we’ve not been downtown together in months and for once he’s noticing how women look at him. Being vigilant can be a bitch sometimes.  
  
”Excuse me, sir?”  
  
A small voice behind me almost makes me jump and I turn around, seeing a little girl with braids and glasses looking at me, eight years old at most. She looks very serious and I smile.  
  
”Hi, there. What can I do for ye, miss?”  
”I was just wondering if I could pet your dog.”  
  
Oh, she’s so well-mannered I must admit it pains me to say no. Billy and Anne stay on a little distance and I turn to the girl.  
  
”I’m so sorry… what’s your name?”  
”Joanna, sir.”  
”Joanna. That’s a lovely name. My name’s Ned and my dog’s name’s Mary Read. Unfortunately, Joanna, this dog can’t be petted. Ye see what’s written on her harness?”  
  
The girl looks closer, trying to make her way through the words. She looks up.  
  
”Do not pet?”  
”That’s right, hon. She’s a service dog and only owners can pet them. It was very polite of ye to ask me first, Joanna.”  
”Joanna! Joanna, what are you doing overthere?”  
  
Crap. Her father, most likely. And even if we’re in the middle of a very open street and I basically look like a human straw, I guess one can’t be too careful with strangers. The father angrily walks over and grabs his daughter far too hard. I bite my lip, silently praying my husband or PC assistant wont do anything stupid. I make a small smile I hope come off as friendly.  
  
”Look, sorry sir, but she didn’t disturbe me, or anything. Actaully, yer girl is far more polite with me dog that most adults.”  
”It’s a service dog, dad, so you can’t pet it. Her name’s Mary Read, after the pirate.”  
  
Joanna, despite the grip around her arm, sound calm and even happy. She clearly loves dogs and I smile.  
  
”Ye knew ’bout the pirate?”  
”Course I do!”  
  
The dad seems to have forgotten what he was upset about, but gives me a look clearly telling he’s not happy about this. I don’t want to get the girl into more trouble, so I take Maread in a bit shorter leash.  
  
”Well, nice to meet ye, Joanna and Joanna’s father.  Keep readin’ ’bout’em pirates.”  
  
The man and his daughter leave just as Billy comes back from whatever he was looking at. He’s putting an arm around my shoulders and that’s when I feel how tense that father made me. Billy, obviously, feels it too and he’s leaning down to my ear.  
  
”It’s okay, baby. You handled that perfectly and there’s nothing to be afraid of.”  
  
Is he talking to me or himself? Maread is rubbing her nose against my calf. My jacket and scarf suddenly feels too thin and I shiver. My husband squeezes my shoulders gently.  
  
”How about getting us some tuna mayo and that berry tea we like?”  
  
I love that he says _we_ , not you and I nod. I’m freezing and some of Tea Amo’s berry hibiscus mix would be really nice now. It feels good to actually _want_ a certain taste, instead of just taking whatever I can keep down.  
  
We get to the café, luckily enough not very crowded yet and since Maread is a service dog and I have my little card with me, confirming she’s allowed in most places, we can come inside. It actually surprises me, and we choose a table close to the door, in case there will be an allergic customer coming in, in which case we have to leave.  
  
I get my cup and a cat teapot with the berry hibiscus mix and the sandwich. Billy and Anne have coffee instead of tea and digs into their sandwiches with gusto. I’m slow and keep my head down, in case someone I know, that’s not a friend or acquaintance to Billy who’s walking by. Luckily, no one we knows enters and I relax a little. Anne leans over, talking with her calm, quiet voice.  
  
”You need a pill, Ned?”  
  
I move my shoulder, only to realise they’re about as soft as rusted handlebars and I nod. I get one of the small pills very discretely in my hand and I swallow it fast. Maread is keeping herself close to my leg with her head resting on my thigh. She knows I’m tense.  
  
I manage a third of my sandwich, but the tea is absolutely delicious and I even have cream with it. I feel… almost a little normal. If you don’t count the dog, the assistant, the meds and the fact that a single meeting lasting only seconds, with a man telling his daughter to back off from me, almost made me shit myself and now I’m almost a human statue again, I guess I’m doing well. I swallow hard, determined not to cry in public and for once, my body obeys. I sip on my tea, feeling Maread close to me and listen to Billy and Anne talking best and worst food places in Saffron-Walden. Slowly, just when I feel tears dropping in my tea, the med starts working and I relax.


	2. Billy (1st person)

You’re crying and it breaks my heart a little, that you’re actually trying to hide it from both me and Anne. You’re sipping carefully on your hot tea, lips pale around the white, old-fashioned china and your sharp elbows resting on the table, giving your hands support. You’ve cut your small sandwich in even smaller parts, a strategy you use to feel more in control. It helps you eat if your mind doesn’t alarm you with thoughts of feeling sick. Picking and cutting food in smaller bits, is a common warning sign for Anorexia, but this is all about your fear of getting sick. If this makes you eat, then fine.  
  
The coffee here is really nice. I enjoy it while waiting for your tears to stop. I’ve learned not to make a big deal about them and it takes just a few minutes before you’ve stopped. Not a sound revealing them has slipped you and the only sign of them now, is your wet eyelashes and the small red lines in your real eye.  
  
”Low?”  
  
I turn around, despite it’s your name being spoken.  Short, sandy hair and slightly reddish beard, I don’t reckognize him. You nod.  
  
”Hi, Meeks.”  
”Not seen you in ages, man. Mapleton said you were home sick.”  
  
Hannah Mapleton is Ned’s boss at the library. You put your cup down.  
  
”Aye, takes longer than I expected to get well. This is me husband, by the way, Billy. Billy, this is Patrick Meeks,  delivers books to us.”  
  
That explains why I don’t know this guy. We shake hands. When he comes to Anne, she introduceses herself as an acquaintance and since she’s far from a social person, Meeks doesn’t push it but you’re uncomfortable because it’s very clear the book deliverer can see how much you’ve changed, even if he doesn’t say it.  
   
“I hope you’re coming back to work soon, Ned. Mapleton and Scott miss you.”  
“Miss’em too. But they have a fill-in, I hope?”  
  
Meeks rolls his eyes.  
  
“Esther, but she barely knows where to place the books and according to Scott she’s been painting her nails while handling new orders.”  
  
You chuckle and shake your head.  
  
“Aye, I remember her. Did some kind of training this autumn. Nice and all, but terribly messy. Poor Scott and Hannah… Tell’em I said hello, next time ye’re seeing’em, alright?”  
“Of course.”  
  
A woman with a toddler waves at Meeks and he shrugs.  
  
“Gotta go or the coffee gets cold. Nice to see you again, Ned. Billy, Anne, nice to meet you.”  
  
He leaves us and you look both relieved, sad and worried. Anne leans into you and whispers something I can’t hear, but whaterver it is, it makes you look less tense. You even smile a little and return to your tea.  
  
Even if you doesn’t work here, but at the library in Linton, it’s close enough to Saffron-Walden for the risk of bumping into people you meet at work.  
  
“He lives here. Meeks. Wife and a son. Must be his day off.”  
  
Your voice is low and tired. I realise as much as you long to get back to your old life again, all the reminders of it are painful. My librarian, theatre monkey and metalhead, now walking in some fucking desert where you can’t focus on books, definitely not act and the last memory of the concerts you love to attend, is forever connected to the worst thing ever happened to you… You take a sip of the tea, but seem to have lost what little appetite you currently have and puts the cup down.  
  
“Can we go?”  
  
We make ready to leave, without showing any hurry and you even manage to smile and raise a hand to the book deliverer before leaving the cozy café. I imagine you wanting to get home as soon as possible, but when we’re passing by Abracadabra, a place selling teddies, you stop and slide with his eye over the window. I stand behind you, an arm around your scrawny chest and the breathing is heavy and stiff. I kiss your hat and you sighs.  
  
“Never gonna be a da, am I?”  
  
I’m so surprised by that I hardly know what to say. We’ve not talked much about kids, it’s been an open question but I must admit there are times I’m thinking about it. Didn’t know you did though. Not now. I squeeze your shoulder gently.  
  
“Never is a long time, babe. You’re only thirtyfour and I’m twentynine. Lots of people adopt when they’re older than that.”  
“Yeah. Healthy people.”  
“You’re gonna get well again and if we get to be parents, we’re gonna by the living shit out of this store.”  
  
I can see your small smile reflecting in the display window.  
  
”How many teddies does a kid need?”  
”Ours will need as many as we can buy. We’re gonna get him or her teddies, dolls and little tea sets.”  
”And ye’re gonna have tea parties with him. Or her?”  
  
You sound amused and I make a mock frown.  
  
”Oh, you fucking bet I will. Gotta force him or her to do all the stuff I never got to do. Tea parties, football, hikes in the woods, swimming, making legos and teach curse words when I step on it.”  
  
You chuckle.  
  
”Ye’re terrible at cursing, muppet.”  
”Well, then I leave that to his or her Irish da.”  
”Sounds like a nice little dream…”  
”And one day we’ll not only dream it.”  
  
The feeling of your heartbeats against my palm, the way you’re looking at the teddies and how you’re not getting angry or distant while I talk, speaks clear enough to me. Some people are clearly not meant to have kids, like John and James, or Max and Idelle. Not because they’re gay, of course not, but they’re simply not interrested one bit. We, on the other hand, would probably have started talking about it, wasn’t it for that fucking assault. I stroke your chest.  
  
”I believe in us, hon. I didn’t get my dad until I was ten. It’s not too late for us to get to be dads for a long time yet so don’t start worrying about that too, please? Can’t we just be silly husbands dreaming of teddies and tea parties a little?”  
”Ye and yer tea parties… What if he or she wants to disect insects and collect dead birds instead?”  
”Then we’ve adopted a sociapat in being and I’ll contact the psychiatry. And ban all outdoor activities that’s not on asphalt.”  
  
Maread is rubbing her nose against you leg and a little of your tension dies off. I kiss your cheek.  
  
”Gotta let us dream a little, Ned.”  
  
You make a bitter laugh.  
  
”Don’t know how.”  
”But I do. And if you can’t do it yet, I’ll do it for both of us in the meantime.”  
  
Your gaze is sliding over the window. Your childhood was way, way better than mine. You’re the one with good memories, even if your dad fucked up sometimes. You have memories of being tucked into bed, kissed and hugged. You’re the one of us that’s been read to, who’ve heard fairytales and had help with homeworks. Phelan was definately not father of the year, but your mother, Elan, made up for that. I love my mother-in-law and know she’s worried about you. She’s the closest thing to a mother _I’ve_ ever had and it pains me to see the distance growing between you since the assault.  
  
”Had two teddies, I think… One brown and one white…”  
”I had none, so that means our kid must have at least three.”  
  
You pat my hand.  
  
”Four, then. And lots of goodnight kisses…”  
  
The way you always keep in mind the major part of my childhood sucked, is one of the countless things I love so much about you. The care and respect. You shiver a little, it’s pretty cold for you now, after all and I rub your arms.  
  
”Wanna get home, babe?”  
”Aye… I’m tired.”  
  
We walk slowly to the car and I would like to say how proud I am for how well your first trip downtown went, but I’d rather want you to think of teddies and goodnight kisses. Who knows, maybe we’ll buy one to a kid that’s our own one day. If I don’t dream, I’ll go crazy.


	3. Ned (3rd person)

The evenings are bright now. Since it’s the beginning of May, Billy is working in the garden. Ned’s been resting most of the day since coming home from town. Slept a lot, but also sitting by the telly, watching series. His ability to focus on new things are limited, so he’s re-watching stuff he knows well. _Pride and Prejudice_ with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. _Vikings._ Blood, boats and Irish nature. Ned rarely misses Dublin, but every now and then, he longs for the woods and shores. The Powerscourt Waterfall and Wicklow Mountains.   
  
At least once a year since getting married, they spend some days there, just the two of them. Of course, they always meet Ned’s family when they’re in Ireland – at least his maw, Fiona and some aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews on Elan’s side – but they also rent a room to just be alone.  
  
Ned’s  left the telly and is watching Billy from the window in the living room. He’s adding fertilisers in their vegetable field, wearing an old, grey sweater and dirty boots. Ned’s hardly noticed their garden this year. The apple and cherry trees are blossoming which seems too early because Ned’s more or less always freezing outdoors. It’s like winter refuses to leave his body. Maread stands close and Ned reaches down to scratch her. She deserves to be in the garden a bit too. Another shiver goes through Ned and he sighs. Maybe tomorrow. Right now he needs to get warm.  
  
He’s taking some logs, making a fire in the fireplace in the livingroom. Then he goes into the kitchen. Food. He’s not been cooking for months and the plate in the sink tells him Billy’s already had dinner. Good. Then he’ll probably just want tea and a snack. Ned puts the kettle on, makes a tray with their old, blue teacups, a jar of honey and pours hot water in the pot, to warm it up. They have a lot of different tea flavors, and Ned chooses cherry. It smells like summer when he opens the jar and the scent elicits memories. Sweet ones from summer nights spent in their garden, drinking tea and scotch on the backporch or on a blanket in the grass, behind the blackberry bushes.   
  
Ned closes his eyes. They’ve been so ridiculously happy for just over three years. Not that they’ve not had their fights and problems, they’re humans for fucks sake, but overall it’s just been so damn sweet. The space they’ve allowed each other has made them come so close together. When they’ve slept separately for some nights and go back to their shared bedroom again, it somehow feels like the first time when they shared the same bed at Billy’s old apartment. It kind of annoys Ned that they’re so sappy, but it’s not like you can decide to switch off feelings. Unfortunately.  
  
The clock in the kitchen is ticking and the kettle is ready. Ned pours out the warm-up water from the pot, adds cherry tea and boiling water before putting a cosy over the old teapot to keep it warm. The daydream he’s having, is too sweet to abandon right now and he sits down by the table, looking around the kitchen. It’s very clean at the moment, due to Billy’s sudden cleaning spree. It still smells like soap. Soap, coffee, spices and old wood. _Home_. It’s a smell Ned loves.  
  
Dwelling in sweet memories, not having them interrupted with all the _what if:s_ and _not anymore:s_ is a rare thing these days and Ned looses himself in them without the painful ones disturbing or destroying the moment. He takes the tray out to the livingroom and places it on the floor by the fire. He puts his shoes on and Maread wavers her tail, ever hopeful and Ned pats her head and gives her a little treat.  
  
”Later, girl. Da’s gotta get warm first, alright?”  
  
How much does a dog understand of human language? Maread surely seems to understand what later means, beacuse she stays by the balcony door, not running outside, when Ned opens. Billy turns around from the vegetable field and Ned smiles.  
  
”Want tea, hon? Just made some.”  
”Yeah, I’d love to.”  
  
Billy smiles too, he’s got colour on his cheeks from the hours outside and his face is cold when he comes close to kiss Ned.   
  
”Ye’re like ice.”  
”But you’re not. Did you sleep well?”  
”Yeah.”  
  
He leans into Billy’s neck, rubbing his nose over the skin and his husband lifts him and swirls around on the grass. Ned groans.  
  
”Oh, for fucks sake… Lucky for ye, we don’t have any neighbours close. Put me down, will ye!”  
  
He’s not at all angry and Billy knows that. He’s grinning and lowers Ned slowly.   
  
”You mentioned something about tea.”  
  
Five minutes later, they’re sitting by the fire on the old mattress covered in blankets they use for this purpose. Maread is a good dog but she also loves being petted by both her daddies, so she squeezes down between, receiving all the petting she wants. Billy scratches her head.  
  
”I took a long walk with her earlier, while you were asleep, so if she’s looking like she’s not been outside, she’s lying.”  
  
Maread, who obviously doesn’t understand a word, waves her tail like she’s been praised and Ned chuckles.  
  
”Maybe I could come along on the night walk.”  
  
He hesitates and sighs.  
  
”Thinking ’bout it, maybe not. Not sure how fast I can walk.”  
  
Billy frowns.  
  
”We could take the bike.”  
”C'mon, muppet, I can’t ride a bike.”  
”But I can.”  
”Ye mean I’ll be a backer?”  
  
He doesn’t mean to sound angry beacuse he’s not, but Billy shrugs.  
  
”It was just a suggestion, Ned. Didn’t mean to upset you.”  
”I’m not upset, really. I don’t know why I sounded like I was. T’is a good idea.”  
”Yeah?”  
  
Billy looks surprised and Ned takes another sip of the tea. Together with the fire, the warm doggy fur and the blanket, the cherry brew is making him warm again.   
  
”Maread is my dog, as ye said when we got her, and I’ve not been able to take her for longer walks in a while now. I don’t want her to think I’m not a part of that. That I don’t want to, ye know…”  
”Hon, she doesn’t believe that. She can literally feel when you’re too tired and I can safely promise I don’t mind taking her out at all and she’s a happy, healthy dog. But I understand you want to be a part of the walks as well. If we’re on a bike, she could even run a little…”  
”And I get to join…”  
  
It’s not a bad idea at all. Problem is, it’s illegal. But their house is not in a crowded neighborhood and should they have extremely bad luck and jump into a police officer… Billy smiles.  
  
”If we’re meeting an officer, I could always say you have extremely low blood sugar due to diabetes and that I have to take you home before you fall into a chomas.”  
”Didn’t know ye were such a good liar… What if I loose balance?”  
”Then it would only add to the charade and I’ll carry you home.”  
  
Ned just shakes his head, laughing a little.  
  
”It’s just too fucking sick I have to break the law in order to take me dog out for a walk.”  
”Does that mean you’re in for it?”  
”Yeah, why the fuck not… Lets go.”


	4. Billy (3rd person)

Being a dog must be nice. Maread is the happiest ever right now, getting to run a little. Ned’s holding a steady grip around Billy’s waist, occasionally leaning his head against his back. Billy’s taking a smaller road, in case the Saffron Walden police happens to have a reason to drive around the block. The air is fresh, almost raw, and Ned is tucked in his old knitted scarf. Billy can feel his husband’s forehead go heavier, his nose rubbing against the fabrics of Billy’s jacket.  
  
They don’t meet many people and none of the few the do meet, looks like they’re about to report them for violating the law. Billy tries not to think about the report Ned had to leave while still laying in the hospital bed, the report that seems to have been forgotten. No one has contacted Ned for another hearing, or anything else for the matter. Rapes and other assaults with no witnesses are clearly not a priority. Not even if the victim almost died and is keeping silent becasue the trauma still haunts him day and night with very little respite.  
  
Billy forces himself not to speed up, to hide the anger he’s always feeling when these thoughts are coming to him. The brutal unfairness, that Woodes and the two women are walking free and possibly even happy, while Ned is still suffering. It’s just not a violant crime. It’s a life, a _fucking life_ shattered to pieces, deprived of almost everything Ned used to do and be. No more theatre or concerts. No more work at the library, no pub visits with friends, no more bright laughters sounding through the house… _Not yet._ The two keywords to not go crazy. Those words and the two thin hands holding onto his jacket.  
  
They stay shortly to let Maread do her business and then they turn back home. The only living creature to meet them, is a black cat with suspicious eyes, watching them from a tree. Maread doesn’t even bark, she’s a fucking superdog.   
  
Back home, Ned is so tired he can barely walk to the door and he sits down at the doorstep with Maread, while Billy puts the bicycle in the garage. He unlocks the door and puts the alarm off – one can’t be too careful with burglers – and Ned raises slowly, unsteady, and Billy catches him just before he’s falling.   
  
”Not a word, hon.”  
  
Ned’s voice is slow from exhaustion and Billy simply takes him in his arms, carrying him inside and locking the door behind them. He kicks off his own shoes, sits down by the stairs and removes Ned’s sneakers, jacket and scarf. He then carries him upstairs to Ned’s own bedroom.  
  
”No…”  
”What is it, babe?”  
”Don’t want to… sleep alone t’night. If it’s okay with ye.”  
  
Billy swallows.  
  
”More than okay."  
  
He turns to their shared bedroom instead, uses his toes to get grip of the covers and pulls them down enough to make space for his exhausted husband. Ned is already about to fall asleep and Billy arranges him before kissing his cheek.  
  
”I’m just gonna put the lights out downstairs, hon. Then I come back.”  
”Ti’s still early… Ye don’t have to sleep now…”  
”I’m not gonna sleep, babe. I’ll read or watch a movie or something. But I want to keep you company.”  
”That’s… very… sweet of ye…”  
  
Completely whacked. But not from anxiety or panic attacks. Ned’s hair is falling in his face and his cheeks have just a hint of colour. Billy presses a soft kiss on his lips and Ned gives a little smile before sleep takes him. Maread is laying in her basket in the corner, keeping watch, and Billy returns downstairs to put the lights out and cry his heart out in the laundry. It takes a long time before he’s all cried out and his eyes are red and sore. Then he makes sure the doors are locked for the night, the fire all burned out and walks back upstairs.  
  
He takes a shower and brushes his teeth. Ned sleeps when he enters their bedroom. The curled up form under the blanket breathes calm and steady and Billy slips into his pajama pants and tank top, pulls the curtain down and throws a quick glance at is husbands nighttable. A glass of water and the usual meds for panic attacks and insomnia in case of. Good. Billy gives Maread a kiss on the head and gets under the covers with his book. He falls asleep in the middle of the fifth sentence.


	5. Ned (1st person)

”I think it sounds like a good idea.”  
  
I can’t ever seem to get used to this. Therapy. Sitting on this sofa with this woman in front of me. Emily Hudson is the kind of person who somehow radiates calm and power with her whole being. Today she’s dressed in a brown skirt, high boots and a silky shirt that, unlike the skirt looks clearly expensive. I’m very tired today, which means I have slipped my shoes off and pressed my knees to my chest. Some days, like today, I simply can’t sit up straight without supporting my arms and head on my knees. In here it’s allowed to behave like an idiot.   
  
”I’ve not decided yet.”  
  
I’ve just told my psychologist about the support group Anne found. I take a deep breath.  
  
”I’ve been downtown. With Billy and Anne.”  
”How did that feel?”  
”Good.”  
”You sound surprised.”  
  
I shrug.  
  
”I’m a fucking mess most days and t’is not as if I’ve been… out much lately.”  
”A fucking mess, you say. Could you explain that a little more?”  
”Well… I mean, I get panicked and stuff. Too tired to do anything. And crying for nothing.”  
  
She nods and I realise I like her face.   
  
”That didn’t happen downtown?”  
”Started bawling at the café but otherwise… Oh, and then a little girl wanted to pet Maread.”  
”What happened then?”  
”I explained why she couldn’t so she didn’t. And then her da came running like I was some kind of perv. Was right on the sidewalk with in the middle of fucking day and… I mean, look at me. I couldn’t kidnap a kitten in this state.”  
  
I smile.  
  
”The girl. She knew Maread was named after a pirate. That was… a bit unexpected, I guess.”  
”You’ve ever thought about having kids?”  
”I need a dog to function so I don’t think I’m da material.”  
”That wasn’t what I asked, Ned.”  
”Billy thinks it’s possible… He’s mad.”  
”But do _you_ want kids?”  
”I like kids. And Billy would be an amazing da… But I don’t think I’d make it.”  
”That still wasn’t an answer to my question.”  
  
Emily’s voice is very soft and warm, but she’s not letting me off the hook. I’m here to address and work with all the shit I’m dealing with, not to escape memories or feelings. I swallow.  
  
”Billy said I have to… let us dream a little…”  
”You both dream of being parents?”  
  
_Father._ To think of someone calling me da is just… insane. I’m not fit to take care of myself, let alone a child. I may have dreamed of it once, just a little, but now…   
  
”Fucks sake, Emily… Look at me!”  
  
I’m crying now, as so often these days, and Maread is sitting close to my leg. I take the offered tissue and wipe my face.  
  
”I need a service dog to come with me everywhere, have to take lots of meds to just keep meself over the surface and… In what world would anyone see me fucking fit to be a da?”  
”You suffer from PTSD, Ned, and you’re working very hard to recover. Just look at how far you’ve come these past months.”  
”Keeping food down and not scratching meself? That’s _progress_?”  
  
It’s probably due to the weariness that I’m this sensitive. Emily hands me a second tissue.  
  
”My impression, Ned, is that one of the major problems that’s a little easier to do something about, is your feeling of isolation.”  
”I don’t feel isolated. I’m… fucking _surrounded_ with people.”  
”But they can’t fully understand some of the things you’re going through. I think this web support could be a really good way of breaking that isolation. You’re not alone. And you’re making progress.”  
  
Am I? I only have to look at my scrawny hands to get a flashback to the night. The pain, fear, humiliation and darkness. And the three faces, six pair of hands and all the other bodyparts, flavours, smells and touches I can’t wipe out from my memory. And I feel disgusting and so utterly powerless. Exhausted. I slide down a little on the sofa.  
  
”I just feel like other people are in control.”  
”And you have non?”  
”Anne said she’d… look it up for me. The group therapy thing.”  
”You asked her to?”  
”No… she offered to do it and I said yes.”  
”If you were the one accepting her offer to do it, doesn’t that make _you_ the one in control, Ned?”  
”But she’s the one doing it.”  
”But would she, if you’d not said yes?”  
  
I stop myself just as I’m about to argue against her, because she’s right. Anne wouldn’t have made contact with that group, if I’d not allowed it. Emily smiles.  
  
”Anne is not your spouse, your friend or doctor, Ned. She’s your assistant and sort of your extended arm. When you _want_ but _can’t_ , she’s the one to help you. That’s her job. If you could make those steps on your own, you wouldn’t need her, so this is by no means a failure.”  
  
My PC assistant is actually waiting for me outside. She’ll drive me home afterwards, help me make some lunch and then stay her silent guard in the hallway upstairs as I, hopefully, get to sleep. I never wanted her, now I can’t function without her and I’ve come to like her too. I feel safe with her. My hour is almost up and Emily makes a new appointment. I’m sticky from crying, but feel pretty alright. My psychologist closes her calendar.  
  
”When you get home, Ned, try and eat a steady lunch and then you take half a sleeping pill.”  
”I only take’em at night.”  
”I know, but Dr. Howell did say you could have a half dose in case you’re too exhausted to relax. You need to eat and rest now, trust me. You’ve done a really good work today.”  
  
I’ve learned it never feels like I have, when I’ve just finished a session here. That feeling, one of relief, calm and sometimes even a sliver of pride, never appears until later. It’s common with all sorts of therapy, which makes it easier to accept.   
  
”I would like to give you a little homework until next time.”  
”Homework?”  
”Yes. I would like you to do one thing every day, only because _you_ want to.”  
”Like what?”  
”Like listen to music, watch a movie or just have a cup of tea.”  
  
I smirk.  
  
”I’d prefer a beer.”  
”Unfortunately that would be unwise while you’re still on some of your meds, but you get my point.”  
”Aye. I should do… fun stuff?”  
”Stuff you want to do, just because it makes you feel good. And I want you to write them down and we’ll talk about it next week.”  
”Like a diary?”  
”Sort of. You don’t have to write much, though. Just what you’ve done and when. For example if you’d really want some extra nice food for dinner and you and your husband make it. Simple, everyday things that are only to make you feel good. Okay?”  
”Okay. I’ll try.”  
”Good. See you next week, then.”  
”Aye. Thanks.”  
  
Things only to make me feel good, huh? Does scratching Maread counts? I take my jacket and my legs are like iron when I step out from my therapist’s room. Anne raises from the couch in the waiting room.   
  
”You’re alright?”  
”Yeah.”  
”Straight home?”  
”Hell yeah.”  
  
My PC assistant smirks and opens the door. When we’re at the car, I barely have the time to sit down, before my legs turn to goo. I actually think I deserve a medal for not falling on the sidewalk. Can’t seem to get used to that either.


	6. Billy (1st person)

”No, dad, it’s fine. Really. He’s at home resting now.”  
”He’s eating properly?”  
  
I roll my eyes.  
  
”Yes, as much as he can. I’m keeping an eye on him.”  
”He’s gained some weight then?”  
”Dad, please… You want me to report his blood and urine samples as well?”  
”I’m just worried. I’ve not met him in weeks and you know I see him as my other son.”  
  
Which no one is happier about than me.   
  
”He’s gaining weight, however slowly, and Maread does wonders, alright.”  
”Good. What about that woman you’ve hired?”  
”Anne Bonny? The assistant?”  
”That’s her. How does it work?”  
”Better than I’ve dared to hope. Look, dad, it’s really turning for the better. He’s eating, he doesn’t have nightmares that often and we’ve even been to town the other day. Had coffee and that’s the first time in months.”  
”How did that go?”  
  
Typical dad. When he’s in ”worrying about his son or son-in-law” mode, he wont stop until he gets what he’s after. I bite my lip, grateful I’m still in my car by the parking lot at work. I don’t want to have this conversation where anyone can here me.  
  
”It… takes time, dad. He managed it well enough until he…”  
”Until what, Billy?”  
”He started crying. Don’t think anyone noticed though.”  
”Who cares about wheather anyone saw it or not?”  
”Well… for a starter, Ned.”  
”Oh, of course.”  
  
I smile at my oblivious dad.  
  
”I’m missing you, dad. You know I’d love to have you over or come and see you, right?”  
”I know, Billy. But it’s been a while now and I miss you both. And I know damn well you can’t tell me exactly what happened, but I aint stupid.”  
  
I swallow.

”What do you mean?”  
”I mean that whatever happened to Ned, it wasn’t some kind of typical robbery.”  
”Dad…”  
”I know, I know, I’m not asking you to tell, just tell you I realise this is something else. Okay?”  
”Okay.”  
”So, are you gonna tell me how he’s doing? For real.”  
  
I should be on my way home now. It’s Friday and Ned’s been to therapy this afternoon so he’s probably whacked. And I have to stop by the supermarket first. My throat is tightening.  
  
”Ned’s not well. It’s… better than before but still far from well. He needs Maread to go with him everywhere, he has panic attacks almost every day, he’s freezing and his clothes are still falling off him. I… I hope he can eat the icecream I… Sorry, dad…”  
  
Talking about Ned with someone close to me, is like turning on a tap. My dad sighs.  
  
”Don’t cry, kiddo. I know it’s hard for you. For both of you. If you ever get kids of your own, you’ll understand one never really stops worrying.”  
”Thing is, dad, it’s not even a bad day. At least not yet. And here I sit, fucking bawling on a bloody parking lot. It’s Friday and we should be…”  
”I know, I know, Billy. Calm down, kiddo, I didn’t mean to make you upset. But if there’s anything I could do for you…”  
”I’m just really glad you called.”  
  
I am. Truly. Dad is my rock and I tend to forget that sometimes these days.   
  
”Is there anything I could do for you, except coming over?”  
”No, thanks. Oh, wait…”  
  
I go through my memory.  
  
”You still have my old, green sweater left somewhere, right?”  
”The one I bought you that was too big?”  
”Yeah.”  
”It’s still in your old closet. But it’s quite wornout. How so?”  
”I thought, maybe you could send it over. For Ned.”  
”Why would he want that?”  
”Because he’s too thin to wear most of his own clothes now and that sweater is… kind of important to me. I think it would… I don’t know, make him feel good if his father-in-law sent him that.”  
”Then I’ll make a parcel of it tonight.”  
”Thanks.”  
”How about Phelan? What does he say?”  
”He’s not called.”  
” _What?_ ”  
”He’s a special kind of asshole.”  
”Ned’s his son!”  
  
Dad sounds upset and I laugh through my almost dried up tears.  
  
”So? I was Celie Manderly’s son and look how many fucks she gave.”  
  
I’ve never met my biological mother and who my biological father is remains a mystery, so I know better than most people how little a son can mean to his parents. Except for John, I was no one to everyone until I came to Hal and he knows that. He also doesn’t like to be reminded of it. He despises Phelan Low and I didn’t exactly improve my father-in-law’s reputation now. I try to soften it a little.  
  
”Elan cares though. And Fiona. And you. Not to mention our friends. Phelan can go fuck himself for all I care. If he called, he’d just make Ned feel worse.”  
”Still unforgivable behavior from a father. It’s bloody shameful!”  
  
I smile. Dad being upset about other dads not caring for their kids, awakes the same warm feeling as Ned’s silent way of respecting my background story, John’s and mine mutual understanding of certain kinds of awfulness and Charles’ looks that says he understands, if he sees any of my old wounds getting opened from something that triggers a bad memory. It’s the care from someone who doesn’t intrude, doesn’t ask for explanations and is fully aware of how much shit people can put other humans through, but still will never accept it.   
  
I’ve never seen anyone as protecting as John and Charles when someone dares to even be rude to James or Elle. Not that they’re not perfectly able to take care of themselves, it’s just that like me, John and Charles have memories of abandonments that go far too deep to get rid of. The parking lot is slowly filling up with more cars, people who’re doing the Friday shopping and I’ve been sitting here far too long.  
  
”No matter how shameful Phelan Low is or not, I gotta get home to Ned now, dad.”  
”Yes, of course. Tell him I said hello and that I love him.”  
  
I’m moved. I know dad loves him, but he’s not said it like this before.  
  
”I’ll tell him, promise. I’ll call you next week, okay?”  
”Should you forget, I’ll give you a call Wednesday or something. And I’ll send the sweater.”  
”Thanks.”  
”Take care now, kiddo. I love you.”  
”Love you too. Bye.”  
”Bye.”  
  
I put the phone down and start the car, feeling like a weight has left me. I’m a idiot for not remembering what an awesome dad I have. And now I’m in a hurry to get home to a certain awesome husband I’ve missed all day.


	7. Ned (3rd person)

Weekends mean no Anne and Ned, as always, wishes her a nice weekend and she tells him to try and do nice shit before she leaves. The worst exhaustion he felt after therapy, decreased unusually fast today. Even Anne was pleasantly surprised and to make her pleased, which means eliciting one quarter of a smile and a ”not bad”, takes a lot. When Ned’s not sure of how well he’s done, Anne is a good indicator. Billy is a bit more tricky. He’s coming inside Ned’s room and Maread waves her tail but doesn’t leave her place behind Ned’s back. Billy kisses them both and sinks down beside the bed.  
  
”Heard rumors that my husband made progress today.”  
”That must be yer other husband.”  
”Oh right, my spare husband. How could I forget about him…”  
  
Billy rolls his eyes and Ned smiles, scratching the short hair on his husband’s head and chuckles as Billy groans in pleasure.  
  
”Oh, my God, _thank you_! And before I forget… God, this was amazing! Right… ah… dad called.”  
”Yeah? How’s he doing?”  
”He’s fine, just… Please, the neck! Yes!”  
”Just what, hon?”  
”He’s missing us and…”  
  
Billy curves his back from the treatment – he loves being scratched on his head – and Maread looks at him like _I know being scratched is good, but show some dignity, human…_ Ned stops and pinches Billy’s ear softly.  
  
”Hal is missing us and what?”  
”He’s sending over one of my old cardigans that might fit you.”  
”Yer clothes? Fitting _me_?”  
”Hey, I wasn’t always this big.”  
”Aye and I wasn’t always this small.”  
  
He doesn’t mean to sound sad. He hates thinking more about his body than he already does. Billy strokes his side, just above his hip and slowly moves to slide his hand under Ned’s t-shirt.   
  
This kind of touch was a very long time ago. They love, absolutely fucking _love_ to cuddle shirtless – pantless is less important unless there are uncomfortable belts in the way – and Ned can’t remember the last time they did that. Just laying in each others arms, skin touching and kissing themselves tired. Billy’s hand is warm and kind, not confused for someones elses, and Ned closes his eyes and swallows. The hand comes still.  
  
”Don’t stop…”  
  
His skin is softer these days. Almost like before. And Billy’s hand doesn’t hurt. There is longing in it, the slightly callused palm with trembling fingers. The lines are bleeding with tenderness, smoothing over the too narrow waistline. Ned sighs and Billy presses a soft kiss on his forehead.  
  
”What is it, babe?”  
”Don’t be mad at me now…”  
”Why would I be mad?”  
”Just promise. Okay? Please?”  
”Alright, I promise. Just tell me.”  
”I… I love this, but…”  
  
Ned takes a deep breath.  
  
”I feel so fucking ugly.”  
  
Billy just looks at him, not really knowing how to start without raising his voice, but over the time that has passed since the rape, he’s learnt more about PTSD, distorted self-images and self-hate than he ever wanted to know. He strokes Ned’s hair.  
  
”Is there room for me on this bed?”  
  
Ned nudges at Maread, who moves further out and they make room for Billy. He lays down, facing his husband and arranges the longhaired head on his arm. Billy buries his nose in Ned’s hair, stroking the scrawny back softly. The spine is still sticking out a little and Billy caresses the fetlocks with his broad palm. It feels far better than Ned dared to hope.  
  
”I know you’ve changed, Ned. Your body’s changed and not because you wanted it. These last months have been so fucking evil to you and your body. I’ve seen it all, remember?”  
  
Billy’s voice is soft and warm, just like his hands, and Ned obliviously relaxes a little, while his husband talks.  
  
”I know quite a lot more about PTSD, malnutrition and tension due to trauma since Anne started and I could, you know, take a step back and see it from a little distance. And you’re doing a… just fucking amazing job, Ned. I’m not saying I don’t understand that you _feel_ ugly, but that doesn’t mean you are. You’re still the prettiest man on Earth to me and you’ve done massive improvements. Since we married, I swear you’ve become more beautiful by every day.”  
”Now ye’re just sappy as fuck… Jesus…”  
”Perhaps, but I mean every word.”  
  
Ned blushes and Billy keeps stroking his back, his shoulders. Ned bends his neck a little, as if avoiding his husband’s gaze, because sappiness certainly hasn’t been around much these last months. He feels so small, but it doesn’t tip over to fear or disgust. His body has missed the hand too much. It just feels too good, his skin like a dried out field screaming for water and Billy’s touch is the rain. He’s starving for this closeness and he’s on the good side of weariness so he can’t stop himself. Doesn’t want to. He tugs at Billy’s sweater.  
  
”Take it off… Please… I need ye…”  
  
Billy removes his sweater and t-shirt and Ned takes his own t-shirt off, turning around to let his husband spoon him. Billy arranges them, tucks his arm under Ned’s head and pulls the blanket up before he twines their fingers together on Ned’s chest.   
  
Ned can hardly breathe. He’s not been laying in Billy’s arms like this for months. The broad chest and ripped muscles forming themselves after his back, the huge arms like a barrier from the world. Maread lays on his other side and he releases a hand from Billy to pet one of the persons they are to thank for this.  
  
”Such a good girl, Maread… Daddy loves ye…”  
”And so does daddy’s husband.”  
”Thought we agreed we’re both her daddies?”  
”I’m her spare daddy, then.”  
  
Maread is just happy to be petted, and to see Ned feeling good. Billy nuzzles his hair.   
  
”How about we take a nap?”  
”Isn’t that what we’re doing?”  
”Yeah, but you’ve slept a while already.”  
  
Ned smiles.  
  
”No such thing as too much sleep for me now, muppet. And Maread will wake us up in less than two hours anyways.”  
”Perfect.”  
  
Not one minute later, all three of them sleep.


	8. Billy (3rd person)

”You’re burning the mince, John.”  
”I’m not. Look, it’s just getting the right colour!”  
”At least turn the heat down.”  
”Back off, posh noble! _I_ handle this.”  
  
John points the spatula at James, while Ned discretely turns the heat down behind John’s back, saves spoonful unseasoned mince for Maread and winks at Billy, who’s chopping cucumbers and peppers by the kitchen table.   
  
It’s almost like before. A return, how ever swift, to another life. When John suggested (demanded) a taco Saturday, Billy shamefully realised he’d not even missed them. Or not known he’d missed them. Lots of things belonging to their old life, don’t remind themselves often enough for Billy to actually miss them. He misses normality, but can no longer name all the things that normality is made of. This is one of them and now as he’s listening to John and James bickering over the food, Billy knows he’s missed them both. Terribly.  
  
”Careful with the garlic, John.”  
”Why are you acting like I’m about to add rat poison?”  
  
John looks both hurt and ridiculous, with his hair as usual in a curly mess and redstriped socks with – that’s right – glitter on his feet. Ned is mostly amused.  
  
”Those an anniversery gift from ye, James?”  
  
James snorts.  
  
”No, but maybe it should’ve been.”  
  
John gives him a pinch in the ass and leans over to Ned and Billy to give them a closer look at the thin silver necklace around his neck. The charm is flat swallow in silver with a diamond eye. It’s clearly expensive, very tasteful and suits John’s slightly tanned skin perfectly. James looks almost a little uncomfortable, as if it was a secret that he adores his husband and simply loves to spoil him whenever he can.   
  
Ned lets out a low whistle as he gets to inspect the gift.  
  
”Damn ye, James… Now ye’ve set quite the standard.”  
  
John grins.  
  
”Yes, everyone knows the more money, the more love. Which doesn’t bode well for my husband. Or Ned’s.”  
”Or Billy’s.”  
  
Billy smirks and presses a kiss on Ned’s hair. John, who’s an incorrigible romantic, immediately gets something soft in his eyes and James saves them by asking his husband to get the taco mix. John, however, is not letting this go.  
  
”You have any plans for your anniversery yet?”  
  
Billy and Ned both laugh and Ned shakes his head.  
  
”It’s six months away, John.”  
”Then you should start planning.”  
  
Billy and Ned exchange exasperated looks.  
  
”Ye’re such a _fag_ , John. How’s James surviving?”  
”With patience and long hours at work.”  
  
James’ sarcastic comments are more evidence than any necklace of how much he loves John and it’s beautiful to watch their neverending game of insults when you know how it works. Billy knows them both well and John more than most people, so he knows better than anyone except from James, how difficult it is to make John let his guard down and let people care. Their constant bickering is simply their way of saying _I love you_ , over and over again.  
  
Billy clears his throat.  
  
”If you two lovebirds are interested, you’re both about to burn the mince. And I’m starving.”  
  
He puts the chopped vegetables in smaller bowls while Ned sets the table. Or half of it, then he’s suddenly unsteady on his feet and has to sit down. Despite the weariness the other day, and a morning spent sleeping, Ned’s still tired from yesterday, but he was stubborn. John suggesting taco Saturday, meant there was gonna be a fucking taco Saturday and the exhaustion could go fuck itself. Billy strokes his shoulder.  
  
”You okay, babe?”  
”Aye. Just hungry, I guess. Low bloodsugar.”  
  
A lie, but a very acceptable one. Maread has her nose on Ned’s thigh and her presence not only makes him calmer, but also provides distraction with her nose clearly sensing the opportunity for a treat and her dark eyes fixed on Ned. _Look at me sitting here being such a good dog!_ _Such a good dog and I love daddy so, so much and what is it that smells so good...? Look at me being the best doggy in the world!  
_  
Ned pets her, tells her she’s a good dog and that she will have a treaty soon. Billy gets a warm feeling inside when seeing them. Maread doesn’t remind him of illness, but health. That Ned, even if it goes up and down, is slowly recovering. The white Golden Retriever is the best help they could’ve wished for.   
  
”Dinner’s served, bitches!”  
  
John is balancing the pan dangerously unstable on his way to the table and James mutters something about _like a bloody teen_. Once they’re all seated, they grab into the food with gusto. John is the perfect dinner company for Ned now, which Billy feels he should tell James later, because his ginger friend looks a bit annoyed at his husband’s blabbering. But it’s really good distraction. Ned doesn’t feel watched or even in focus and that helps him eat better. Also, his weariness is far less noticable when John stirs the attention away from his struggles.   
  
So John does most of the talking, Billy adds whenever he can, James hums and makes a sarcastic comment every now and then and Ned eats as slowly as he unfortunately still has to, smiles a lot and occasionally even laughs. He manages just little more than a child’s portion, which isn’t bad when he’s this tired. Billy discretely pours one of the clear nutritional drinks into a glass and serves him as the rest of them go for seconds. Ned finishes half of it and then, with a small smile, he’s falling asleep by the table.


	9. Ned (1st person)

The smell of car seats, gas and chewing gum. Of cinnamon and hot breaths. And snow. White, cold snow, deceptively soft and light. I can taste the cold air on my tongue, mixed with genital fluids. My tongue wont give her what she wants, so she rubs her crotch all over my face. When she’s done, Woodes wipes my tears, gently. I try to turn my head away and he laughs. The sound of it sends cold shivers down my spine and he turns me on my stomach. My cock is still hard and being rubbed down hard against the car seat adds more pain.  
  
My body is numb and completely out of my control, but my mind is wide awake. I can see, hear and most of all feel them and I realise I’m nothing to these people. No one, not Woodes, not the women, meets my gaze. My words are meningless to them, every sound of pain and protest I let out, falls to the ground, unheard and I realise I’m gonna die here.  
  
I’m gonna die here, alone, and as I’m thrown back and forth from unconsiousness and horrifying awake, unable to help myself I see Billy far away on the road. I try to scream but all that comes from my mouth is cum and vaginal juices and Billy turns away in disgust… _I thought you were different, Ned…_  
  
”Ned! Ned, wake up! Wake up, babe, you’re having a nightmare.”  
  
Someone’s screaming and I want it to stop, because it scares me. It sounds hollow, inhuman and dead. Like a roadkill’s last whimper, echoing out in the night with noone but the foreverdark woods listening. Watching and listening with indifferent, invisible ears and eyes. _You’re not the only piece of warm flesh burning out on this frostbitten ground. Birds, beasts and humans. We have room for you all… The frost will welcome you with open arms…  
_  
”Get the white jar with… Yes, that’s the one! Ned, sweetheart, open your eyes. It’s Billy. And Maread.”  
  
Fur. Warm fur. Paws… paws, nose… fur. _Paws, nose, fur. Paws, nose, fur._ _Breathe, Ned. Breathe._  
  
”Should we call someone?”  
”No, just help me hold him. Ned, listen to me. You need to stop scratching yourself. No-no-no, easy now, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re having a nightmare, babe.”  
  
Three faces. I don’t reckognize them at all. They’re strangers to me, they don’t belong to the voices. I can hear Billy, John and James, but who are these men grabbing me and why are my husband and friends not doing anything to help me? What am I swallowing, why can’t I spit it out?  
  
”There you go, Ned. You’ll feel better soon, my love. I promise, I promise… It’ll pass, it’s just a nightmare and you’re safe.”  
  
I have nothing left to fight with. My body is tired, so tired and limp in this man’s lap and I still don’t know if he’s Billy. I can feel fur, a warm body close to me. _Maread.  
_  
”Yeah, that’s right, hon, it’s Maread. Your dog, remember?”  
  
My dog? _My dog_. The frostbitten road, the dark wood, the cold grinning faces fade and give way for goldenwhite fur. The now. My head falls to the side and now I can feel it’s Billy who’s holding me. I’m panting against his broad chest, sweat dripping from my face and someone presses a slightly wet towel against my forehead. I open my eyes and see dark curls and blue eyes.  
  
”You reckognize me, Ned? John.”  
”John…”  
”Yes. I’m gonna bathe your face a little.”  
”Is that alright, sweetheart?”  
  
Billy. He’s here. I’m on his lap, he’s not gonna let anyone hurt me. John wont hurt me. I think I nod. John’s touch is careful and light. His eyes warm and friendly.  
  
”Ned, we’re all here for you. You’re not alone in this.”  
”I’m so… sorry…”  
  
I’ve ruined their night but the three pair of human eyes looking at me, are not judging. I reckognize James now too, he’s holding my hand and his green eyes meets my single one.  
  
”You know who I am, Ned?”  
”James… John’s… husband…”  
”And your friend. John and I, we’re your friends too. You have nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to apologies for, Ned. _Nothing_.”  
”Exactly.”  
  
John strokes my cheek and he swallows.  
  
”Remember what I told you, Ned? I’ve been raped too and it sure as hell wasn’t my fault. Was it, James?”  
”The hell it was.”  
”You hear that, Ned? It’s not your fault you’re getting flashbacks and panic attacks and it wasn’t your falt what happened to you. You think I need to apologies to James? For being drunk and trying weed? To apologies for getting a boner when I didn’t want to? To ask for forgiveness for something a woman, a fucking _rapist_ did to me?”  
  
John is flushed now, hands holding my face and he’s pressing our foreheads together.  
  
”Come back to us, Ned. We’re not judging you. We love you, you know. We’re fucking _family_.”  
  
John’s voice and my breaths are the only sounds in my room now. I don’t even remember how I got here. Or why John and James are here. We don’t allow people upstairs except in… right. Emergency cases. I’m a pile of soaked skin and bones now and John kisses my forehead, then laying his arms around me and Billy.  
  
”We’re family, Ned. Alright? Billy’s the closest I got to a brother and that makes you my brother-in-law. I love you both. James and I love you both and you and Billy are family to us. We’re not judging you, we’ve never _ever_ judged you, because what happened _wasn’t your fault_. _This_ isn’t your fault. Come back to us, please…”  
  
I don’t know who’s tears are on my face, if it’s mine or John’s. But I know where I am now, and my aching muscles finally relax. I’m safe again.


	10. Billy (1st person)

”Why do I feel like I’ve given away a secret? It’s not as if you didn’t know…”  
  
John is curled up in James’ lap on the couch and I’m having your now sleeping form in my arms on the floor, with Maread pressed close against your back. James hasn’t said much since his poodle’s little speach, which wasn’t very little at all. My oldest friend looks exhausted and is sipping on a glass of scotch with lots of ice, while his husband combs through his curly hair with his fingers. James has his eyes fixed on the movie non of us are watching.  
  
”Is this how it’s been for you?”  
  
His voice is low and at first I’m a little surprised. Because they know, don’t they? I’ve barely finished the thought when I realise they don’t. I stare into the screen, not knowing what I’m seeing.  
  
”Yes.”  
  
You’re sleeping heavy enough for me to talk freely.   
  
”On good days… he still reckognizes me. Or at least a little faster than now. But he didn’t hurt himself this time. That’s… good.”  
”Billy…”  
  
James turns to me, an expression of deep sympathy and worry shadowing his face.  
  
”Nothing about this is good. I had no idea it was still this bad. That he doesn’t reckognize you, that’s really serious. I wish you’d told us.”  
  
John sighs, scratching his hair.  
  
”What James means, I think, is that we both wish we’d known more so we’d been of more help.”  
”You’ve already helped us more than we’d been able to dream of.”  
  
James frowns.  
  
”Come on, Billy… I know you hate to feel like you’re in dept, but I’ve never seen it like that. I have more money than I need and no friends of ours are gonna be without help in crises as long as we have the means to help them.”  
  
John nods.  
  
”I understand better than most how it feels to live on others mercy, Billy, and so do you. I mean, you and Ned would’ve done the same for us if our roles were reversed. Money may not guarantee health, but they sure as hell help. And James has lots of both. Technically, I have too since we’re married, but you know what I mean. For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health and all that.”  
  
And friends in need are friends indeed. I have no idea what I’d done without mine. Ours. I swallow.  
  
”I want _him_ to pay for it… For what he did to Ned… I want them all to pay for it. For ruining my baby’s life. I just don’t want to risk loosing him while doing it.”  
  
I’ve tried my best to keep the violent thoughts hidden, even after I told you about them. I want to kill them, I want them to suffer, but I also want you. And I can’t have both so I choose you. Always.   
  
”Does it have to include violence?”  
  
James’ voice is even lower now and both me and John look straight at him as if he’s gone mad. The movie is still running in the background and I wet my lips.  
  
”What do you mean?”  
”Only that there are more ways to make people pay for what they’ve done, besides the court and violence. If you have the means to do it…”  
”And I have that? Or you?”  
”Not you, Billy. Not me. _Us._ ”  
  
You’re moving a little in my lap and I rub your shoulder gently. You’re gonna be in so much pain when you wake up, poor darling. And I don’t want you to hear any of this. I lower my voice.  
  
”You’re gonna help me…”  
”Give those bastards what they deserve, yes.”  
  
James could just as well been talking about a business deal. My heart is speeding up now.  
  
”How would we do that?”  
  
John gives a devilish smile.  
  
”Billy, darling, there are _lots_ of ways you can ruin peoples lives without using your fists or the police.”  
”The police wont do anything…”  
”Then we will.”  
  
I don’t know what to say and James clears his throat.  
  
”Charles has mentioned it too, you know. That you – with our help – should take matters in your own hands.”  
  
John nods.  
  
”The least we can do, if Ned doesn’t try the court which is a damn uncertain way even with DNA samples and shit…”  
”He wont.”  
  
I know that. It shouldn’t be like that and if I could, I’d drag you to the station and make you witness but that’s just impossible and even if it wasn’t, I’d ruin our marriage by breaking your trust. I keep combing through your hair with my fingers. In my mind, I’ve had our revenge again and again, always as empty as people promising it will be alright when it’s anything but.   
  
I trust my friends but I don’t want to be alone with these thoughts tonight. I nod at the bottle on the table.  
  
”I’ll put Ned in the guestroom and before we say another word, I’ll need some of that. Lots of ice, please. Then we’ll… talk.”


	11. Ned (3rd person)

_Just because you want to._ Ned doesn’t want anything but scream. Instead he gets loose on the punching bag, barely noticing he’s not getting quite as tired as last time. The difference isn’t great and he’s soon on his knees, panting and arms shaking from the shock treatment before breakfast. Ned doesn’t even know what time it is.   
  
Maread comes sitting beside him as he leans against the wall, resting one arm on his service dog. He’s only wearing pajama pants and a tank top, sweat glistening on his shaky arms and when he tries to get up, he can’t move. The punching session seems to have cut off the anger and frustration for now, so Ned just sighs and pats Maread.  
  
”Go get Billy, girl.”  
  
She trots off and soon, the fast, heavy steps tell him Billy probably thinks he’s got another panic attack again and Ned is actually smiling when Billy shows up and practically throws himself next to him.  
  
”What happened, babe? Are you alright? You had a nightmare?”  
”I’m fine. I just can’t get up.”  
  
Ned nods at the bag in the roof.  
  
”Guess I kept going a bit too long. Me arms feel like noodles.”  
”You mean you just sent Maread to wake me up because you can’t move after hitting the punching bag too long?”  
”Aye. Doesn’t look any better.”  
  
This time, Ned’s smile reaches his eye and Billy shakes his head, eyes still weary.  
  
”You know what time it is, hon?”  
”Eight?”  
”Six.”  
”Oh… Crap.”  
  
They look at each other, Ned can’t stop smiling for some reason and then they both burst out in a giggle.  
  
”I’m so sorry I woke ye up.”  
  
Ned almost cries it, having no idea why this is suddenly funny. Billy’s shaking from laughter.  
  
”Can you stand?”  
”No idea…”  
  
It turns out, he definately can’t, which sends him into another fit of laughters. Maread is happy too, sensing her daddy and daddy’s husband are and she waves her tail, having no idea what’s so funny, but she’s a dog so she can wave her tail at whatever she wants. Billy simply lifts Ned from the floor and carries him to the bathroom.  
  
”Just put me under the shower. I’ll sit on the floor.”  
  
He’s still giggly and Billy places the schampoo, soap and conditioner on the shower floor and hangs a towel on the crook inside the shower cabin before he pulls the curtain. Maread lays down on the bathroom floor.  
  
”I’ll leave the door open, hon. That okay?”  
”Yeah, fine.”  
”You want coffee?”  
”This early?”  
”You’re going back to sleep?”  
  
Ned thinks for a moment and then he turns the tap.  
  
”Nah. Probably not.”  
”Then I’ll make coffee.”  
”Ye’re an angel.”  
  
He can almost feel the smile from behind the curtain and then Billy leaves. Ned starts washing himself, using the Aqueous cream mixed with his usual shower gel. His skin is still extremely dry and the cream helps a lot. Ned washes himself, irritated he actually knows shit like this these days. Not because he’s interested, but because he needs it. It helps though. His skin is, like Billy said, much better now and it’s probably not only due to nutrition.  
  
When he’s done, he grabs the towel and swirl it around his hips. His legs wont really work and he makes it out from the shower, sliding on his ass, more annoyed than anything else. Billy’s left clean clothes for him on the floor. Boxers, socks. Dark jeans Max has changed so they still fit him, a white longsleeve and a grey, knitted cardigan that’s too big. Knitted socks in blue and red, black mitts. His husband has thought of everything, as usual. Ned realises it somehow feels less annoying this morning.  
  
He dresses himself while sitting, which works good enough and then he tries to stand, which doesn’t work at all, so Maread has to get Billy to help. He smiles when he sees Ned on the floor.  
  
”They fit?”  
”What?”  
”Your jeans.”  
”Yeah, Max changed’em, ye know.”  
”Twice.”  
”Don’t follow.”  
  
Billy squats and pulls at the loose waistline.   
  
”Look at where she made the stiches.”  
  
Ned folds the fabric down by his hip. At first he doesn’t see it and Billy points at some almost invisible traces of now removed threads.  
  
”You’ve put on almost two inches.”  
”And now many did I loose?”  
”Five. And twentyseven pounds.”  
  
Numbers. Defeat. Ugliness. Fucking tears.   
  
”Hey…”  
  
Billy pulls him close, rocking him softly.  
  
”It’s really dangerous to drop that much so fast, you know. Same with gaining too fast. And you have a crazy metabolism by nature. Don’t forget that.”  
  
That’s true and usually that’s something Ned is equally happy and annoyed at. It’s nice being able to have greasy stuff and beers for several days on festivals and not gaining any visible weight, but it also means that he drops fast if he’s not careful. Especially since he’s used to be so active. Apparently, his body hasn’t adapted to that. Billy strokes his cheeks.  
  
”I know you have difficult keeping fatty stuff down, but we have nuts.”  
  
Swallowing has also been a problem for a long time now and Ned isn’t terribly keen on nuts but they’re probably easier to digest and keep down than a lot of other fatty food. He nods.  
  
”Could try some.”  
  
Billy has to carry him downstairs and the way his muscles aches is a reminder of how hard it hits if Ned crosses his limits. Billy’s made soft-boiled eggs, soy yogurt with banana for Ned and he chops a handful of nuts, adding them to the bowl. The plastic cup with meds stands next to a glass of fresh orange juice, the whole kitchen smells from coffee and the sun is shining on the floor, on Maread’s fur and the carpet. Billy serves her breakfast as well and then pours two cups of coffee, Ned’s with soymilk.  
  
Ned follows him with a soft gaze, the movements around the small kitchen, how he shows care without making it look like he has to think about it at all. The sweetest man he’s ever met and a truly amazing husband.  
  
”Ye know I love ye, right?”  
  
Billy closes the fridge, a slight blush covering his cheeks. The smile Ned could fall for, over and over again.   
  
”I know. And I love you too. So fucking much.”


	12. Billy (3rd person)

Watching a movie by the fire is a perfect Sunday activity. Having Ned on his lap, listening to the spring rain outside and not feeling the pressure to do stuff. Ned’s in a lot of pain again and it’s one of the days when the meds don’t really help all the way. He’s freezing despite layers of clothes and a thick blanket, but has no fever. Tired, but still very tense. Billy holds his hands, warms the fingers in his palms. Maread is helping too, laying close to her daddy and resting her nose on his leg. Ned arches his back, the fetlocks cracking.  
  
”You want a massage, hon?”  
  
They used to do that often. Especially when Ned was doing physically challenging roles. And Ned, in return, used to do the same for Billy, more than usual during football season. For a long time now, Ned’s been too weak, too sore and too anxious to give or receive that treatment. Usually, he absolutely loves getting his neck, shoulders and back thoroughly kneaded and Billy loves doing it. He also knows that if there ever was a time when a massage would do wonders, it’s now. That is, if it wasn’t for the fucking PTSD throwing Ned into flashbacks, panic attacks and nightmares of being left dying on the road.  
  
But the short talk Billy had with John and James the other night has, not exaclty raised his hopes of justice, but at least made him feel less alone. Less powerless. Of course, Ned can’t know about this, because he would freak out, but Billy doesn’t really feel he’s going behind his back. Ned’s fear is that Billy will break the law and end up paying for the revenge with prison which, now as Billy’s been so occupied taking care of Ned to make time for such plans, isn’t something he wants to put him through. Sex crimes are hard to proove and their meetings with the police so far haven’t raised any hopes.  
  
”Hello?”  
  
Billy’s pulled out of his spiral of thoughts. Ned smirks.  
  
”Where did ye go?”  
”Just… got stuck in my head.”  
”Aye.”  
”Aye, what?”  
”I’d like a massage, but I don’t think I could lay down…”  
  
Billy understands.  
  
”You could sit on a chair, perhaps? If you have your arms on the backrest.”  
  
His husband nods slowly.  
  
”Maybe… Could try it, I guess.”  
  
It’s easier said than done, they quickly realise, since Ned’s balance isn’t the greatest, but with a little extra support from Billy’s thighs as he sits on a chair behind him and can squeeze around his hips just a little with his knees, they manage to create at least enough stability to give it a try.  
  
Ned’s back is like a minefield with knots and Billy warms the oil and his hands before starting. The muscles are so tense they could just as well have been bones and Billy swallows. Is this what his husband walks around with every day?  
  
”You’re always this tense?”  
”More or less. The pain differs and it helps stretching but it’s never not there. I mean, either I’m in pain or just tense. Or both.”  
  
Billy grits his teeth. The list of things Woodes and the women will pay for, is always growing. The more normality Billy is reminded of, the larger that list becomes.  
  
He works through Ned’s muscles so lightly it’s almost like only stroking. Wide, firm strokes all over the sore back. He puts his hands on the tightened shoulders and adds more pressure. A cracking sound makes him stop at once, but Ned is surprisingly protesting.  
  
”No, don’t stop!”  
”It didn’t hurt?”  
”It did, but in the good way.”  
  
Billy places his hands on the bony back once again and presses down. Ned hums as his muscles get stretched out.  
  
”Fuck… this is… can ye stretch me neck too?”  
  
He leans back and Billy very gently presses Ned’s head against his stomach with one hand, then bending the neck slowly to the right while pressing the left shoulder down. It sounds like something breaks inside Ned’s body, but judging by the pleased moans and curses, it’s doing him good. Billy turns to knead the shoulders and neck, but they soon become red and he has to stop. He turns to the arms instead, kneading them for a little while and then rubs Ned’s entire back with the oil, just to add some moist to the skin before draping his own, thick cardigan over to keep it warm.  
  
”Thanks, muppet…”  
”My pleasure. How are you feeling?”  
”Unsteady and like me neck just grown with three inches. In another word, good.”  
”Shall I help you back to the couch then?”  
”Yes, please, me chivalric midfielder.”  
”Thought I was your muppet.”  
”That too.”  
  
Ned sounds sleepish and Billy has to carry him to the couch. He arranges them so he can spoon the tired man who, probably without realising it himself, has spent an entire week pushing himself through obstacles like a fucking champion without biting or scratching himself once. And Ned may not feel very proud, but Billy does. And grateful he can touch the man he loves. That they've taken another step closer.


	13. Ned (1st person)

When was the last time I had sex? Years, of course, but how many? Was there ever a time when I liked it? And more interesting: how often does a sexual person ask him- or herself the opposite? Why do I have sex? Is it really necessairy? I know I’m the fucking minority here, but the assumption I somehow must miss it, that there has to be that one person who can make it all feel good and natural to me is something that has followed me since I was a teen.  
  
I have fantasies. Or used to. They never include myself or Billy or anyone else I know. Never. My favourite is very simple. One year at Wacken, I saw two guys making out outside their tent. It was really late, the last bands were on, but I can’t remember which ones. I was stumbling away to my own tent when I saw them. One with darkbrown hair to his shoulders, the other with a blonde beard and waistlong hair. The dairkhaired one sat on his knees and the blonde leaned over him and they just kissed, kissed and kissed like there was no fucking tomorrow.  
  
It’s still one of the most intoxicating things I’ve ever seen. The way they held and touched each other, how they seemed unable to let go of the other one’s lips… It was so obvious they were in love, perhaps even loved each other and that they didn’t give two shits about anything than kissing. They didn’t touch their cocks or rubbed against each other, just kissed and when I managed to keep moving and find my damp tent, I had my hand down my pants within seconds after I’d pulled the tent zipper down. It’s probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had and those few times when I’m actually in the mood for doing it and not just want to get over with an irritating boner or some stress, I use that memory. Sometimes there are other images or memories I use, but the one with those two guys kissing in the muddy grass remains my favourite.  
  
The last time I had sex was a depressing business and I remember closing my eyes as Pete, my then boyfriend rode me on his bed. _(”I’m totally fine with no sex, I love you just the way you are and I don’t want to change you! Oh… now as I think about it, do want you to change.”)_ Bullshit. Pete actually used tears to make me fuck him and I guess I just got tired of his constant nagging, sobbing and begging and those damn doggy eyes I was so soft for, so eventually I gave in. I dislike being fucked even more than doing the fucking, probably mostly because I have less control in how long I have to put up with it, but Pete liked either way, so I let him ride me.  
  
It just felt so completely wrong and what disturbed me the most, was that we both knew I didn’t like it, that I did it only to make him happy. I couldn’t understand how he could enjoy it, knowing I didn’t want to have him that way. I didn’t lay like a boned fish, I did stroke his ass and thighs, did scratch his back and when he was close, I grabbed his hips and fucked him hard as he came all over my stomach, moaning and gasping. I came too and it was more like a sigh of relief. I may have grunted, just to make it less creepy and when he finally got off me, he grinned and said ”told you you’d like it”. I didn’t answer and he didn’t wait for one either. I just grabbed the tissues on his nightstand, wiped my stomach and took off the condom with the ”evidence of how much I’d liked it”.  
  
We took a shower together, he soaped me all over, made sure not to miss my crotch or ass and I felt like I no longer knew what I was doing or why. Just that whatever it was, it was only for Pete. His desires. His needs. His pleasure. I was merely a tool and the wrong one. When I didn’t show any enthusiasm for soaping him up, he got irritated and did it himself really quickly before leaving the shower. I rinsed the suds from my body and started breathing again.  
  
It was late and when I was done showering, I felt like I’d somehow crossed that line for the last time and I just wanted to go home. But I couldn’t do that. Pete had already went to bed, waiting for me and I laid down beside him, back turned against him and he started stroking my chest, nuzzle my neck and whispering how much he liked my cock and I could feel him getting hard again, his cock pointing right at my ass. He said now it felt real, like he’d got to know me more and I left the bed like a shot, running to the bathroom and threw up. Because he didn’t know me at all and the person he wanted, clearly wasn’t me.  
  
Then we argued. At first he was worried, but I was too disgusted and angry to want his hands on me again, so I told him not to touch me. And of course, he snapped. I was sick, crazy, impossible to live with and incapable of being intimate. I showed no fucking interest in him, no enthusiasm _to even give it a proper chance_ and that’s when _I_ snapped. I screamed that he knew I did it for him, that I didn’t want it and I was fucking sick of pretending I liked it. That he fucking knew I was ace, I’d not lied to him but he’d just not stopped nagging so I did it for him, like he’d asked me to. He tried to calm me by kissing me, but I turned my face away and then he hit me.  
  
He regretted that the moment after his fist hit my cheek. All colour left his face and he started apologizing while I still tried to grasp what had just happened. I remember just grabbing my jeans on the floor and putting them on with shaky hands, then looking for my socks and t-shirt as Pete kept blabbering his apology. When I didn’t answer – I was probably a bit shocked – he started accusing me instead. That I didn’t love him, that I’d lied to him, let him believe I was different. I didn’t actually feel any pain until I left. I found my shoes and he tried to stop me from leaving. I didn’t think, just shoved my knee in his crotch and pushed him away. Then I took my shoes and the moment I’d shut his door behind me and started walking down the stairs, I became nauseous. Again. Ended up crying on Idelle’s couch and made a solemn promise never to date someone who wasn’t strictly ace ever again, no matter how much he’d say he was ”okay” with me.  
  
The last time I was scared not to be taken seriously, was the first night with Billy and he was more nervous than me for the exact same thing. We talked about it, I sat in his lap and we were both half-hard because bodies react to things and then we relaxed. Both of us. We stopped being scared and became ourselves in full. And now we’re not. Not anymore.


	14. Billy (1st person)

It scares me at first. The easiness. Since we so rarely discuss jobs, I tend to forget that James, despite his uppety class background, actually started off as a hacker. Only, as John loves to point out, not from his mother’s basement, but from his large bedroom in his very wealthy parents posh house in Kensington. _I’m basically marrying an uppety class criminal and I feel like fucking Cinderella, only with a hacker who doesn’t have to make me try shoes to know my size_ , John joked a week before his wedding, when he was sitting in our kitchen and swept drinks in a lightning speed, ready to flee the country due to wedding nerves. To wich Ned, after throwing a glance at John’s striped socks, answered _you’re a nine_ , pointing out no one needed to snoop around John’s wardrobe to get an idea of his shoe size.  
  
Ned was right about that, but John had a point. He hesitated a lot before the wedding, not only because he was never one to believe himself suited for marriage, but because of their different backgrounds. John, like myself, has a background not only not to brag about, but the kind one want people to know as little about as possible. But the thing with my friends, and Ned’s, is that most of the relationships in our circle, are matches from different social backgrounds in one way or another. Charles is ”real American trash”, as he puts it himself, not bringing more than the clothes we wore when he left home and Eleanor comes from the English nouveau riche with her father’s built up fortune from a higly successful transport company.  
  
Max started off as the daughter of a waitress and father unknown, but managed, with the support from a really good teacher who saw her potential with economics and an old neighbour lady who encouraged her to develop her talent with sewing, letting her use the sewing machine, tought her to knit and embroid. Now she has her own, very popular, formal dress business women about to get married and girls planning their highschool proms, are lining up more than eighteen months in advance to be sure getting Max’s design on their big day. And Idelle? She met Max while working as a freaking belly dancer on a cruise and impressed her by simultaneosly rubbing her tits in Max’s face, punching a groping guy in the guts, complaining about the bad air conditioning and compliment Max’s choise of dress fabrics. _(Mulberry silk? Bloody hell, I’d better be careful…)_ When finding a woman with exquisite tits and dancing skills, knowing high quality silk without even having to touch it, Max became very interested and long story short, within six months they’d moved in together. Idelle now works as a masseus and doesn’t make half of what Max does, but they’re thick as thieves. And just as cunning.  
  
Yes, it scares me a little. I’ve never been a scheamer. I’m skilled in survival by keeping a low profile and stay to the familiar, things I know I have a chance to control. But I’ve never been very good at reading people or smooth enough to use social skills to get advantages. James and John, Eleanor, Max and Idelle, all have that. And Jacob, Ben’s boyfriend, is one of the best bullshit talkers in the land if he puts his mind into it. Me, Ned, Ben and Charles don’t have that, so the plan James comes up with feels very unreal to me.  
  
It seems so terrifyingly easy and starts off so slow and discreet. Bad online reviews on the companies the three assholes work at. Not all at once, but with regular pace from six of our friends. Anonymous, of course, but not overly mean. Just needlesticks, pointing right at these three persons. Woodes is “rude”, “doesn’t seem to know how to treat his customers” and later “used the n word”. Charlotte is “sloppy”, “painted her nails on the counter” and “made fat jokes after a large woman left the shop”. Alice, who works in the homecare for elders, is harder to use that kind of rating reviews on, but sending an anonymous complain to her boss, saying she likes racist pages and comments on Facebook and adding screen shots as evidence, is just as easy.  
  
To lead this back to me, Ned or any of our friends, is almost impossible and the single needlesticks look very tame when seeing them one by one. But this is a revenge that takes time, that little by little is meant to drive the people who drugged, raped and left my heart to die, mad. I don’t want them to have a massive blow people can see and directly help them with. No, after John and James explained their idea and I’d thought about it, I realise this is way better. It’s the slow, almost unnoticed vengeance that looks like bad luck or accidents, serving to not let these animals rest. Not at work, not in private. And since nothing of this can be traced back to us, there is very little they can do to make it stop.  
  
And after months of constant worry, hate and grief, this slow cooked and cold served vengence, tastes delicious. The only problem is: the one who has the right to strike this blow, doesn’t know about this at all, and I’m not sure he’d approve.


	15. Ned (3rd person)

”What’s going on?”  
”What do you mean?”  
  
Ned refills his tea cup and internally rolls his eyes. Billy has secrets. Ned knows his husband and it’s not hard to tell something new is occupying his thoughts this morning. He’s absentminded in a way he very rarely is these days and not that Ned wouldn’t want Billy to let go of his worries a little and loose himself in his own mind like before, but that’s probably not what’s happening.  
  
”Ye’re thinking so hard I can see smoke.”  
”It’s nothing.”  
”I kinda know ye, Billy. What’s bothering ye?”  
”It’s nothing important, hon. Really. Can you pass the salt, please?”  
  
He cracks the shell of his egg and Ned silently hands over the salt box. Maread is wolfing into her breakfast in her corner, the sound of her teeth and kibble making the silence louder. Ned looks at his own egg, the yolk looking unusually unappetizing.   
  
”Ye’ve not forgotten we have an appointment with the Hamilton’s today?”  
”When did I forget one of your appointments?”  
  
Okay, Billy’s clearly in a mood for some reason and Ned decides to just drop it. He has no wish for a stupid fight at breakfast and if he gives in for the urge to just ask his husband what the fuck his problem is, it will just escalate. Ned’s always prefered to have his fights after he’s had his coffee.  
  
It feels nice to have coffee in the mornings again. Means his stomach is stabilizing. He has to drink it slowly and make sure he’s finished at least half of his food before he can have even a sip, but that first cup of two during the day, is boardering on amazing. Spoiling that by starting a fight leading nowhere, is beyond stupid. Also Anne will show up pretty soon anyways and Ned has no intention making her the involuntary audience to a needless couple’s fight.   
  
The sun is reflecting shortly in the two rings on Billy’s left hand and Ned comes to think about the proposal. It was a Sunday afternoon, Billy watched a game on the telly and Ned laid with his head in his lap, reading. Billy had been a bit on his toes that weekend, blaming it on stress at work and then, in the middle of the game when Ned was just about to start another chapter in _The Farthest Shore_ , it came. _Uhm… I have a… Was wondering if… Fuck… Would you like to marry me?_  
  
It clearly wasn’t the intended proposal and Ned was dumbstruck, put his book down and looked at the blushing face and the fidgeting hands trying opening a little black box stuffed with white satin. They’d not talked about marriage, but already bought the house even if it would take a while to renovate and live in and the ring was a very beautiful one in gold without ornaments. Plain and smoothe and Ned had raised from Billy’s lap, turned to him and couldn’t speak a word at first, but only reach out his left hand, staring and swallowing. When Billy looked like he didn’t know whether to put it on or not, Ned finally nodded. _Aye. I’d like that… very much.  
  
_ The ring fitted perfectly and Billy later told he’d measured the finger while Ned was out from a brutal drinking night and wouldn’t have been able to wake up from an earthquake.   
  
There was one for Billy as well, the exact same and the situation soon became unbarably sweet and sappy because truth be told, finding a boyfriend who didn’t want to change you was huge in itself. To become husband to someone, actually making a fucking promise to build a life together with open eyes, was fucking amazing. The fact Billy’s staying now, is boardering on the incredible. And to think Ned can’t tell when he’s hiding something, is just stupid.   
  
Ned takes his plate to the sink and the wraps his arms around the man he said yes to in another life, nuzzling the neck and the short hair.   
  
”I know there’s something, but ye don’t have to tell me. Just don’t assume I’m too wrapped up in me own shit to not notice when something’s troubling ye, okay?”  
  
Billy puts his yoghurt spoon down.  
  
”I already said it’s nothing. Stop snooping, alright? Can I have a private life?”  
  
Ned backs off and breathes heavily. Billy, who just realised what he said, sighs.  
  
”Fuck… I’m sorry, hon, I didn’t…”  
” _Ye_ want a private life?”  
”Babe, I really didn’t mean it that way. God, I’m so sorry…”  
”No, _I’m_ sorry! For having so much privacy with me meal schedules, meds lists, doc’s appointments and all the funny tests I have to do to make sure me blood, piss and shit works properly. It’s really grand to have a camera up me ass and have people squeezing all over my stomach, asking how sore I am.”  
”Ned, please…”  
”Ye’d like not being on yer own for four fucking months except on fucking loo? To have _ten plus bloody people_ around who’ve all seen ye on yer worst?! I know this sucks for ye as well, but ye don’t get to talk to me ’bout fucking _privacy_ , Billy.”   
   
The last time they had a fight, like a normal argue about something other than this shit, must’ve been at least eight months ago. This kind of ”I’m not stupid, you’re stupid and you don’t understand me at all” stuff isn’t their style at all. And considering how Billy begged and nagged for Ned to tell the truth about what happened that night, and now asking him to _stop snooping_ , Ned can’t help but seeing red.  
  
”How would ye like being a fucking prisoner in yer own house, Billy? In _yer own fucking body_! I’m not even allowed to drive a car anymore!”  
  
It’s due to the meds. Despite having only one eye, he can drive a car with no problems. The only thing he can’t do due to the eye, is swimming without goggles and watching 3D movies. But since the meds he’s on makes his reflexes slower and combined with the partial blindness, his drivers licence is temporarily withdrawned and he still can’t ride a bike due to loss of balance and strenght. A small whimper leaves him and he’s clutching his hands.  
  
”Don’t make the mistake thinking I’m stupid, Billy. I fucking _know_ ye. At least gimme that much cred.”  
  
The sound of Anne’s car interrupts whatever answer Billy could have before opening his mouth and Ned simply leaves the kitchen and Billy’s secrets with Maread in tow. This is, after all, not the right time for a fight even if they had it coming and probably wont let it go, especially since they’re both right and stubborn as fuck.


	16. Billy (3rd person)

”Well, look at you two! Randy, have you seen?”  
”I still have eyes, Thomas.”  
  
Ned smiles and Maread waves her tail. Thomas Hamilton is like walking sunshine and Miranda – or Randy as she prefers to be called – reminds of a mother trying to take things down a bit. It’s very possible Thomas is simply too good for this world and Billy can’t help but think he’s very lucky to have a wife who’s a bit more down to Earth. The couple shake hands with Anne too, who’s grumpy look doesn’t seem to effect them at all and then take to say hello to their former foster child, as Randy calls the dogs who’ve left them.   
  
With just a pinch of bitternes, Billy wonders how his own childhood would’ve been if his foster parents had treated him as well as Randy and Thomas treat their dogs. Ned tells Maread to say hello and Randy squats in front of her.  
  
”Hey there, Mary Read.”  
  
Maread still waves her tail but also looks at Ned to see if he’s alright with this. Despite the really bad start at breakfast, Ned isn’t angsty or tense now. At least not so much it’s visible or disturbes him. It’s also hard to not get at least a little affected by Thomas Hamilton’s friendly face and happy eyes. The man gives the visiting couple a hearty smile.  
  
”It’s so good to see you. Randy and I have been wondering how things work out for you.”  
”Good. She’s a treasure.”  
  
Ned sounds happier than usual and Billy smiles too. Maread is, without doubt, the main source of Ned’s happy moments because she’s the only person he never has to fear crossing a line he’s set up. In some ways, Billy thinks, it’s like loving an infant. It can’t see your flaws and doesn’t care about anything else but getting it’s basic needs fulfilled. Maread offers that love too, along with a comfort no human can give. It’s unconditional in a whole other way and Ned needs it so badly.   
  
Randy and Thomas praise Maread, talk about dogs in general and in their naturally smooth way engage Anne in the conversation too, asking if she’s worked with service dogs before (she hasn’t) and if she drinks tea (she does). The trees around the frontyard and the couples garden behind the house are green and the large amount of birds twittering on the branches make Billy realise it’s spring. Not greyish and raw with the winter still grasping in it’s heels, but actual _spring_ with bright colours and smells from new grass and daffodils. He then looks at Ned, who’s wearing mittens, his thick shawl and the old woll-wadded parka over a knitted cardigan. He still has winter and whenever there’s enough warmth to make something blossom, the frost can take it in an instance.   
  
”Would you like some tea? Or coffee perhaps?”  
  
Thomas brings him back to the present and Billy smiles.  
  
”I’d love some tea, please. Thank you.”  
”And you, Ned? Coffee or tea?”  
”Tea, thank ye.”  
”Anne?”  
”Uhm… tea sounds nice, thanks.”  
  
Thomas asks if they want sugar or milk and Billy gets a nudge from Ned, realising he’s been a bit absentminded again. Not from thinking of vengence, though. Ned’s words this morning, the stupid fight non of them wanted and the fact that Billy actually is hiding things very deliberately from him, are constantly reminding of themselves. Ned may be completely wrong in thinking Billy believes him to be stupid, but not with the rest. Billy is hiding things and clearly makes a terrible job doing it. Three new postcards were sent this morning, as Billy took Maread out. Same words on all three. _I know_.  
  
No threats. No warnings. No sender. Just those two words. _I know._ A threat, but of what? Billy’s not really sure. He just wants to make them feel on edge. Force them to live like normal despite knowing something is there, trying to make _normal_ rust and wither. Just not what or how it will show itself. The nightmare Ned has been living inside for months now, only in a laughable small form. Needlesticks.   
  
”Billy?”  
  
Ned’s voice takes him back again and Billy blushes.  
  
”Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.”  
  
Ned looks worried for a second and then takes his hand.  
  
”Lets go, hon.”  
  
Apparently, his husband isn’t too angry with him to act like he’s not. Billy strokes his thumb over the too thin hand as they walk to the door and gets a small squeeze back. Angry or not, Ned’s not and never has been one to hold a grudge. Especially not in front of others.


	17. Ned (1st person)

Stop looking at me like that. Like I don’t understand there’s something going on. You’re a terrible liar and we both know that. The fact that you’re trying to act normal is fucking ridiculous.  
  
”How’s it working with exercise, Ned?”  
”Good, I think. Billy takes her out on longer runs and I play catch with her in our garden a lot.”  
  
You nod.  
  
”And we’re driving to a field every week so she can have a good run.”  
  
Randy smiles. I like her smile, actually. It’s warm and intelligent but not overly happy.  
  
”She’s quite healthy and happy girl, that’s easy to tell.”  
  
Thomas nods.  
  
”It doesn’t take a genious to see you’re thick as thieves.”  
”I’m not even a dog person.”  
  
Don’t know why I’m saying that, but it’s still true. I love animals but have never wanted a dog. Cat, yes, but not dogs. Too much work and bad smells. But Maread is different and I stroke her soft, almost silky smooth head. I would probably be locked up in an psychiatric ward or worse wasn’t it for her. Randy takes a sip of her tea.  
  
”A service dog doesn’t really compare to pet dogs.”  
  
She’s right. This is a whole other thing. Maread can feel my anxiety in an instance, sometimes even before I notice myself. She’s my lifeline, basically, catching me when I loose balance, holding me when I loose myself.  
  
We talk for a while. Thomas and Randy ask questions, but don’t dig too deep. They’re really good at keeping things on a normal level without tripping over to useless chitchat. Even Anne opens up a little, her usual grumpiness leaving some room for something almost close to a real smile. You, on the other hand, look far too normal.  
  
”She’s a comfort to me as well. Feels a lot easier when I can’t be around, knowing she’s there.”  
  
I’m sitting right here! I’m not a fucking child or a moron. I’m not mute or unable to express myself. The anger I can’t show right now makes my muscles tense and Maread, like a clockwork, puts her head to rest on my thigh. The only thing I don’t like with a service dog: the fact that I can’t pretend like I’m fine when I’m not. Maread is trained to stop or at least ease my anxiety, not hiding it from others. Randy  puts her cup down.  
  
”Anne, would you like to see our garden?”  
”Uhm… Yeah, sure. Why not.”  
”You could come too, Billy.”  
  
It’s a quite transparent trick, but it works. The darkhaired woman with her secretive smile takes you and my PCA out so smooth it doesn’t matter how obvious it looks. I’m actually quite relieved when you leave the room, leaving me alone with Thomas. Once the door is closed, the man takes the teapot.  
  
”More tea?”  
”No, thanks.”  
  
He refills his own cup instead, smiling again, this time at Maread who’s laying her paws on my thighs.  
  
”They are so good with reckognizing things we feel even before we know it ourselves.”  
”Yeah. Don’t know what I’d do without her.”  
  
As soon as I’ve said that, the reality hits me. Maread is three years old and a golden retriever lives for… how long? Ten years? Twelve maybe. And that’s if they’re healthy. My chest tightens by the thought, because she’s so much more than a tool. She puts her head on me too now, feeling the increased tension immediately. Thomas’ smile is slightly sad, or maybe regretful.  
  
”It’s a paradox, really. A service dog is at the same time both an aid for and a reminder of the problems. PTSD can be a… very hard condition to live with. Depending on the trauma, the time to heal can be anything from a few weeks up to many years.”  
”I know.”  
  
If, by knowing means that I’ve heard the information and can apply it on any other reality but mine. I swallow.  
  
”Anne has contacted a support group. Online.”  
”That’s good. Really good.”  
”Havent decided if I’m gonna try it yet.”  
”How’s Maread changed things for you?”  
”A lot.”  
  
I scratch her again, smiling as she looks at me.  
  
”Panic attacks don’t come quite as often and they last shorter. I’m not… loosing touch with reality as much as before.”  
”That’s really good.”  
  
I nod.  
  
”Yeah… I sleep better too and I’ve been out more.”  
”In public?”  
”A couple of times, but we mostly go outside town. There’s a field where we play catch.”  
”You take hikes in the woods as well?”  
  
Foreverdark woods. Woodes Rogers. The long night. _That seems so everlasting and foreverdark_. It hasn’t ended yet, the dawn still uncertain. _There will come a golden dawn, at ends of nights for all yee on whom upon the northstar always shines_. I’m so tired of being afraid, of only having myself and my recovery to think about.  
  
”Ned?”  
  
I’ve been clutching my hands again, the memory pulling me away from reality but I come back quickly, only more tense.  
  
”Can’t take longer hikes. Not strong enough, even if it’s in town.”  
  
The physical pain and exhaustion are sometimes worse than the panic attacks and nightmares. It’s so all-consuming, impossible to stop when it’s begun and it takes so much time and energy to get back to a level I can handle. Thomas nods.  
  
”I’m not your doctor, so I can’t really say what would be the best in your case, but have you thought about something like swimming or yoga?”  
”Yoga?”  
”It’s actually a very good excercise with PTSD. Everyone is different, of course, so this is in general terms but yoga is very mild to your body. You’re still having pain, right?”  
”All the time, more or less, the meds only help so far. But I can handle it.”  
”I don’t doubt you can. But less pain is always to prefer.”  
  
I swallow.  
  
”It takes so long...”  
”Sadly, it’s very difficult to predict how long PTSD takes to heal. It differs a lot depending on the type of trauma, the patient, the support.”  
”I have more support than most people could ever dream of.”  
”Don’t feel guilty about that. You don’t owe anyone a quick recovery, Ned. The help you’re getting is what everyone suffering from trauma should have. It’s not you who’s getting too much support, but others that don’t get enough. And that’s not your responsibility.”  
  
From the window behind Thomas, I can see you and Anne guided through the Hamilton’s berry bushes. Miranda gestures and talks, I can see her smile even from this distance, with my one only eye. I didn’t see something being put in my drink. The warm head on my thigh moves a little and I smile as I look down to my dog.  
  
”She always makes me smile. Don’t know she does it…”  
”Dogs don’t judge. They meet us where we are, here and now. They’re not measuring or looking for progress. They’re so much harder to disappoint than humans.”  
”True.”  
  
I sigh and Thomas looks serious again, his blue eyes firm but so friendly.  
  
”We live in a society where we, while being more open about our private lives and feelings than ever before, at the same time are tought to feel ashamed of them. Men, especially. How old were you when you were told to stop crying and get on your feet again for the first time?”  
  
I startle a little, searching through my memory, following it back to Dublin and my home at East Wall. The drive-way where I learned to ride a bike and started crying when falling and scraping my knee. Da told me to get up and stop crying. He dried my face quickly, checked my knee and gave a pat on my shoulders. _Stop crying, Edward, ye’ll get the hang of it. Up._  
  
”Five. Around five.”  
  
Da didn’t say it to make me feel weak or silly, he just wanted me to keep trying and not make a big deal of it. But of course, as most men, I learned to stop showing myself weak early. Thomas nods.  
  
”I’d say that’s quite common. I was seven or eight when I was told not to act ’like a girl’. My father was, and still is, a very traditional man of the forties, all about boys and men shouldn’t cry or show feelings. Men can’t be weak, we’re supposed to keep ourselves together and things like that. We’re actually tought to take _less_ care of ourselves from the start and then to not accept enough help when that lack of essential care makes us need _more_ help than if we’d taken better care of our feelings in the first place. It’s a very vicious circle and often hard to break.”  
  
I tend to forget that my first doctor, Alfred Hamilton, is Thomas’ father. They couldn’t be more different, just as I’m not reminding of my own da at all. I have maw’s eyes and hair and my uncles slight bodyshape. A disappointment for my burly, blue collar da. But before the assault, I wasn’t weak. Bodily strenght isn’t all about large muscles. I miss being able to move like before. Quick and soft, like a cat. I could run, bend and move my body with such ease. Now I hate being in it because I never know how it will respond to anything except meds and Maread. I sigh. I’m still tired from the argue with you.  
  
”Can’t trust me body, ye know. T’is like I’m renting someone elses.”  
”And that’s why I think Mary Read is such a good help for you. Nothing wrong with meds, therapy or friends and family, but she can help you land in the now, to come back to your body much faster and easier.”  
”Yeah. Just wish I could have long hikes with her.”  
”That’ll come in time, I’m sure. Think about what I said about yoga and swimming. Lenient exercise could be really good for you.”  
  
I laugh a little.  
  
”I’m sure it would, but I can’t really see meself in a swimming hall or yoga class right now. Can’t go anywere without Maread, not even if Billy and Anne are with me.”  
”But service dogs are permitted in a lot of classes and facilities. I have a list in my office you can have.”  
”Thanks, that’d be nice.”  
  
Even if I hardly intend to swim, it would be helpful not having to wonder about all the places I may and may not go to when I’m stronger. Thomas’ company is weirdly relaxing and I suddenly come to think of his father.  
  
”Yer da, Alfred Hamilton…”  
”Yes, what about him?”  
”Ye’re… very different.”  
  
Congratulations, Ned, on acting like an idiot. Thomas startles just a little, but then he smiles. A slightly sad one.  
  
”Yes, we are. And I’m very glad you got Dr. Howell instead of my father.”  
”Ye know Dr. Howell?”  
”Not in person, but he’s not only a great doctor but also is part of _our_ community.”  
  
Oh. I always forget that Dr. Howell’s married to a guy. I smile.  
  
”Wish I’d known it would get better when I was a teen.”  
  
Thomas smiles again. It’s actually really contagious. I have no problems understanding why James fell for him.  
  
”Even in our society, it’s not always easy to be a little bit different, as you know. Polyamory, asexuals… One must always be prepared to put up a fight when meeting with public healthcare, insurance companies, not to mention the police and legal system. Me and Randy, we ’discriminate’ in our own way, by always choosing people we know will otherwise likely get less good help. So it’s not only because we have friends in common, Ned. This, how we work, is a way to help including all kinds of people who still can’t trust the healthcare not to discriminate. Asexual people are not the least strange or unknown to us. You’re not here to be judged, but to get help with problems, and your sexual orientation is not among them.”  
  
Am I ridiculous for crying now? For needing to hear that? Maybe, but it doesn’t feel as bad as usual. The blonde man with deep blue, just amazingly friendly eyes, who hands me a tissue makes it somehow impossible to feel ridiculous. I may only have met Alfred Hamilton less than three hours in total, but I clearly feel that man doesn’t deserve a son like Thomas.  
  
He’s practically a fucking saint in stonewashed jeans with dogs hair all over. And I don’t deserve him either.


	18. Billy (1st person)

_I fucking know ye. At least gimme that much cred._ You know exactly where to strike to get to me, babe, so don’t think I don’t give you credit for that. You’re an impossible man to keep secrets from, not because you snoop beacuse you really don’t, but because I can’t fucking hide my thoughts from you. Because you know me too well and I always open up like a fucking flower to sun for you. Hiding my thoughts and feelings like this, is just so fucking unnatural.  
  
We’re back home since a couple of hours and Anne is off soon. You’ve had a nap and now you’re getting help with the physiotherapy program in your room. Gradually, you’re responding better to being touched, but your body is still extremely tense. I shouldn’t spy, but I rarely get a chance to see how you’re reacting to touch without me around.   
  
In the doorway I see you on your back while Anne helps you stretch out your legs, slowly bending your once so flexible thigh towards your chest and I hear the muscle crack and snap from the pressure. It sounds as if you’re breaking and I can hear Anne instructing you to breathe slower, deeper. Your face is tight from the strain and Maread lays close to you, keeping you here and now, remembering who’s hands are on you and why.  
  
I remember when you played the lead in _The Cripple Of Insihmaan_ twice a week for three months and had to get up earlier every morning just to take an hour of stretching not to damage your body in the roll. I gave you massages after the performances but you still had to do the stretching twice a day. We slept together more than usual that period for some reason, maybe we were just both a bit more clingy. And I always got a little surprised when I woke up and realised you weren’t there, before remembering you were doing your stretches.  
  
Sometimes I saw you doing them. Your lithe, strong and flexible body bending and turning, the sound of your spine cracking a little as the fetlocks fell into their right places again. Muscles and tendons slowly giving after from your determined patience. Your body working with you, not against you and it was beautiful to watch.  
  
I can hear Anne encouraging you, reminding you of progress you don’t see for yourself when you’re in pain.   
  
”An inch deeper today, Ned. That’s fucking good, ye know.”  
  
She reminds me too. The tape measure – yes, apparantly she has a fucking tape measure – she holds up, shows that you’ve actually reached quite far from where you started. I don’t want to disturbe you so I sneak downstairs again and head out to our garden. I spend some time working there when you were asleep and it’s time to look over our herbal and vegetable field for the season for real.   
  
An inch deeper. A pound heavier. One less nightmare. Two minutes shorter time to leave a panic attack. You should be planning this years festivals with Ben, Jacob and Idelle now. Wacken in Germany, Tuska in Finland. You should be talking about the waiting lists for this years springs news at work. The new play for the season. Not this year. Now all you have to look forward to, is convincing your body and mind they’re not at war with themselves. _I fucking know ye. At least gimme that much cred._ The words hurt, mostly because you don’t know yourself anymore. There’s a constant insecurity surrounding you and it hits me that’s probably the gravest loss.  
  
The theatre, your friends, the work, the concerts, our intimacy… Of course you miss it all, but watching you struggling and fighting to get your leg obey and relax, trying to make it remember another time, is utterly heartbreaking. I didn’t talk much with Miranda while you spoke to Thomas, it was just a way to give you some time with him on your own. You’re a private person by nature and sometimes I must remind myself how much of an intrusion this whole rehabilitation thing actually is for you.  
  
I tend to get stuck in the goal, the progress and of course the gratitude towards our friends. _Ye’d like not being on yer own for four fucking months except on fucking loo? To have ten plus bloody people around who’ve all seen ye on yer worst?! I know this sucks for ye as well, but ye don’t get to talk to me ’bout fucking privacy, Billy.  
  
_ Fuck. I want to run inside your room, scoop you up in my arms and just ask for forgiveness. Which is probably the last thing I should do right now. Lucky enough, I have weed to get rid off in our field and apple trees to prune. Spring has been late this year and for you, the winter’s still here. I get loose on our garden to force the urge to interupt your training and by that possibly ruining the rest of the day. Have other things to ruin, things already set in motion. A little goes a long way and I know three animals who’re facing a lot of ”a little” now.   
  
Like anonymous cards. I never write any threats on them, just the two words. _I know._ I send them every week, because if you’re not allowed to forget, they aren’t. And also because as you’re getting stronger, this slow, almost invisible revenge, is the only thing keeping me from going berserk. Holding back was easier when you were on crutches. Now I need these small needlesticks of outlets to keep my own anger in check, especially since I don’t know if or when Woodes will return to England.  
  
The black earth smells from rain. Rich and dark, reminding of home, of us. Our friends call us sappy and domestic, a friendly teasing, but this is the first place that really feels like _my_ home. Not a place where I live on others mercy or goodness, not a boring flat I can’t make myself swap for something better because I have no one to share that _better_ with. No, this house, this garden, is ours. It’s yours and mine. My home with fasades and a wall of stone. With climbing roses, fruit trees and a wild liliac arbour. It’s more than just a place to eat, sleep and keep stuff. It’s home and when I allow myself to dream, it’s also where I see us raise a kid together.   
  
I stick my spade in the ground, turning the soil again before putting the sugar snap seeds in straight lines. In the big birch tree close-by, there’s a blackbird singing and I can see the neighbours red cat sneaking around, taking his ”daily property inspection walk”, as you call it. You always pet him if he’s walking by when you’re out here and I wonder if he’s missing you. Because I do.


	19. Ned (3rd person)

The cold is crippling him. Knees scraping as he finally manage to leave the ditch. Everything is so silent, even the trees, as if the wind held breath, waiting. For him to die. Ned’s body has gone numb, he can no longer feel the pain, just the fear and the cold. He’s gonna die here and Billy’s gone. Because Ned accused him of intrusion and now he’s left. Billy wont help someone who’s pushing him away, who’s not grateful.  
  
The tall form has turned his back on Ned and walks away. Ned’s screaming, but Billy’s voice is cold and distant. Motionless. _You said you wanted to be left alone. Look, I’m doing what you asked._  
  
But this isn’t what Ned asked, what he wanted. Is is? He can’t get up from the ditch, the cold is too strong, his hands too stiff and there’s blood on his clothes. Billy doesn’t care, he’s tired of waiting and he grows more and more distant while Ned screams. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please help me, Billy, I didn’t mean to tell you to leave!_ But his husband doesn’t hear him anymore, he’s walking further and further away from Ned, leaving him to die because that’s just what he deserves.  
  
There are laughters behind him and he turns around, facing the three faces again. All of them grinning, the blonde woman shaking her hair in his face. _You came with us, remember? You were the one leaving._ Ned tries to turn away, only to feel the hot breath from the man on his face. _Why would he want you when he could’ve had me?_   The man is angry under the smile, he’s pressing Ned’s body down in the snow, hands bruising it as he leans down. _You couldn’t even keep an eye on your own drink. You followed us, didn’t remember who I was. Now you’ll never get rid of me. Billy’s leaving but you’ll always have me.  
  
_ The scream is so terrifying it wakes him up. He’s sitting straight up in bed, screaming and screaming, unable to move or feel, see or hear anything outside his own body on that road. He’s somehow both in bed and the ditch, the reality has crashed and all he can do is screaming.   
  
”Ned! Ned, wake up!”  
”Where are ye?!”  
”Ned, you’re having a nightmare! I’m right here with you.”  
”I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to leave!”  
”Honey, it’s just a dream, no one’s leaving, you have to wake up.”  
”Where are ye?! Billy!”  
  
Lamps. Lights, arms. Paws. Ned’s still seeing the road, the woods. His teeth clatter, he’s drenched in sweat.   
  
”I’m right here, Ned. I’m holding you and you’re in our bed. Maread is here with you, can you feel her?”  
  
Maread would never leave him alone on that road. Ned feels the soft fur under his hands and arms, the nose nudging his cheek and reality comes back, not soft but like a punch in the guts and Ned cries and cries as he falls in a pile next to his dog.  
  
Billy holds his drenched, shivering body close to his chest, as Maread covers his back. Ned’s stopped screaming, now there’s just tears. The angstridden fucking stream of tears that doesn’t give release but only adds to the sense of hopelessness. Billy rocks him slowly, stroking his back and hair.  
  
”You’re safe, hon. It was just a nightmare, I’m here with you, I’d never leave you. Tell me where you were.”  
”Woods.”  
”You’re always there when you’re having a nightmare?”  
”Yes…”  
”You were calling for me. Said you didn’t mean to leave, that you were sorry.”  
  
Ned just whimpers and Billy kisses his sweaty face.  
  
”You didn’t leave me, Ned. You were brought there against your will, but you’re not there anymore. You have nothing to appologies for, you shouldn’t feel any guilt. And the winter’s over, it’s spring now. I sowed sugar snaps in our garden yesterday.”  
”What… what time is it?”  
”Half past four in the morning. You’ve slept very long, you were so tired from the visit at Miranda and Thomas. You remember we went to see them?”  
”Yes…”  
”And then you made exercises with Anne, stretches… You remember that too?”  
”I think so.”  
  
It’s coming back, slowly but steadily. He wanted to push himself and Anne helped him. He got angry with his body but eventually it went better. He had a nutritional drink and then he fell asleep, exhausted from the day and he must’ve slept very heavy.   
  
”How long have I slept?”  
”Almost thirteen hours.”  
”Fuck…”  
  
Billy arranges the knitted blanket, the one that’s not drenched with sweat, around him and rubs his arms.   
  
”You needed that. And now you need breakfast.”  
”Too early.”  
”You’ve only had a nutritional drink since yesterday lunch. Gotta eat a little now, even if it’s just something small.”  
”Not hungry. Just gimme a diazepam.”  
”No.”  
” _No?_ ”  
  
He’s too exhausted to push Billy away, but he’s angry.  
  
”Give it to me, Billy.”  
”No!”  
  
Billy’s voice is sharp, almost hard and he takes Ned’s face between his hands, looking straight at him.  
  
”Listen to me, Ned. You need _food._ You’ve slept thirteen hours and your body is screaming for nourishment, even if you’re not hungry. If I give you a diazepam now, you’ll end up sleeping until lunch and fuck up your rhythm completely. Not to mention feel sick. I know you’re not hungry, but you have to eat _something_ if you’re not to end up in hospital again.”  
  
Hospital is the last place, except from the fucking woods, where he wants to be. And he’s feeling weak, shaky in his limbs. He can’t make breakfast on his own and he swallows.  
  
”Ye gotta help me. Don’t think I can move.”  
  
His husband almost smiles and presses Ned to his chest again.   
  
”Of _course_ I’ll help you.”


	20. Billy (3rd person)

”Is it the same dream every time?”  
  
The air is cold but they’re in the garden or, more correctly, on their backporch. It’s too cold for breakfasts outside yet, but here they are, warming hands on their tea cups before the dawn. Billy has lit their small brazier and Ned is crouched up in the chair, glassy-eyed and exhausted, but awake. He shakes his head.  
  
”No. Not entirely.”  
  
His voice is small, tired and he looks at his teacup.  
  
”Sometimes I’m alone, sometimes… _they’re_ there. But it’s the same place.”  
”The road?”  
”The ditch.”  
  
Ned stares out in the dusk of their garden, his scrawny fingers gripping tightly around the cup.  
  
”I’m… trying to climb up from the ditch and it just gets darker. Colder.”  
”Were you alone this time?”  
”No. They were there, they laughed at me. And… and ye were there, but ye didn’t… ye didn’t help… Ye were tired… too tired of me.”  
”Oh, babe…”  
”I’m sorry. Feel like I’m accusing ye and I really, really don’t.”  
”Ned, it was a nightmare. God, I’d never _ever_ blame you for that, that’s just insane.”  
”Maybe I am. Insane…”  
  
Ned sounds so abject, so defeated Billy can almost see the layers of shame and guilt around his shrunken form.   
  
”You’re not insane, Ned. You’re dealing with a trauma, you have PTSD but you’re definately not insane.”  
”Ye know what scares me most?”  
”What?”  
”That I’ll end up hurting ye. That I’ll get one of these… attacks and somehow...”  
  
His husband cries again. Quietly, defeated. Ready to be crushed by this horrible burden he never should’ve been forced to carry around. His head is resting on his knees, the blanket sliding down a little, revealing the too big cardigan hanging loosely over the bony shoulders. Maread’s head nudging his feet, the silent reminder that he’s not alone. Billy swallows.  
  
”Even if you did mistake me for him, or any of them, I’m not afraid you’ll hurt me. And even if you do, you can’t do me much harm when you’re having a flashback or panic attack. Some scratches and bruises, at the most. And I know why and it’s not because of me. There’s no way you could do me any serious harm and I know it’s not me you’re trying to fight.”  
  
Ned’s sigh is almost a whimper and Billy buries his nose in the tangled hair.   
  
”Don’t worry about me, Ned. I can handle this, I promise. I can tell almost immediately if it’s me or someone else you’re seeing in those moments. No matter how, we’re always bringing you back to reality. Everytime, wheather it’s me, Maread, Anne or the meds who’re helping you doing it. ’Cause in the end, it’s you who’re doing the heavy work, Ned, and I couldn’t be more proud.”  
”That’s not the worst… T’is what scares me the most, but…”  
  
The tightening in the exhausted muscles, the involuntarily strain Ned has no control over, is slowly squeezing the last drops of strenght left in his body and he takes a deep breath.  
  
”Ye cared for’im once. And I’m so fucking scared ye’ll end up doing something ye’ll regret…”  
  
Regret. Which would be worst? Regretting doing something, or regretting not doing anything? Ned mustn’t bear that burden too and Billy is still a terrible liar. But is it a lie to say he’d not do anything he’ll regret, when he’s certain he wont regret ruining whatever he can of the rapists lives? Ned isn’t, at least not now, asking him not to do anything, but only not doing something he’d regret. Billy nuzzles the worried head, rubbing the sore shoulders.   
  
”I wont, you don’t have to worry about that. I can control myself, it’s not your responsibility.”  
  
It’s not a lie, not technically, and Ned’s too exhausted to see through it right now. The sun is slowly touching the trees, the dewy grass and they’ve come through yet another passage of darkness. And always, when they’ve reached the morninglight, Billy asks himself what he’ll never let Ned feel: _Will they ever get through for real?_


	21. Ned (1st person)

I’ve had a couple of good days since the latest huge nightmare. Good days mean days when I don’t throw up, don’t have more than a smaller panic attack and nightmare and don’t loose contact with reality. When I can eat without feeling sick or cry over absolutely nothing. On the other hand, I’ve been in a lot of pain, barely able to go to the loo without help. Anne’s here, of course, and you’re home too, refusing to leave me the first day or two after a major fit.  
  
Right now, I’m laying on a mattress by the fire, trying to let Anne guide me through my body. I’m actually resting my head in her lap, or on a pillow placed in her lap, but still. Maread is laying by my side, of course, and I can feel her warmth against my arm. The blanket is warm too, so is the pillow. Warmth helps me relax and Anne thought to hell with all the _shouldn’t have to_ and _but it’s spring_ so I had to agree. No, I hadn’t, but I pretend I had to. It makes stupid little things like this feel less like something a weak person whines about, and more like a sensible order.  
  
Emily Hudson said, on our latest session this morning, that I have a distorted self-image and sense of reality. That I demand too much of myself and don’t allow myself to feel good about the help I’m getting. The self-accusations and all the fear they bring, that eats my time and energy. The soft cracking from the fire is soothing and so are Anne’s hands around my shoulders. When I’m this calm and warm, I have no trouble with her touching me, I can even close my eyes. It’s as if when my body reaches a peak high of anxiety and tension and then finally gets to relax again, my brain doesn’t give two shits about someone that’s not Billy touching me.  
  
”You’re alright, Ned?”  
”Uh-huh. T’is... actually nice.”  
”Good. I’m told I have scarecrow hands.”  
  
I laugh.  
  
”Scarecrow hands?”  
”My boyfriend complains. Says I’m too strong for being this tiny. Bony fingers, like a scarecrow.”  
”Thought people used big gloves for them.”  
”That’s what I told’im, but he insisted to sound like an idiot. And he’s actually not one to talk.”  
”He’s scrawny?”  
”Definately. And that’s by nature, you know. No matter how much he eats, he’s still scrawny.”  
”What’s his name? Ye may have told me, but I’m not very good with names.”  
”Jack. He’s a tailor, believe it or not.”  
”Really?”  
”Yeah. Guess that’s the only way he can make clothes that fit him.”  
”And he calls ye a scarecrow?”  
”Just ’cause of the hands.”  
”There’s nothing wrong with yer hands.”  
  
I’m actually relaxing. They’re small and warm around my shoulders, not squeezing or stroking, just holding my bony body in place. The mattress is comfortable and I’m not freezing. Hearing Anne talk about her boyfriend is soothing.  
  
”He’s making this fancy suits and dresses for people. I’m not allowed in the back of his shope where he keeps all the stuff he’s working on ’cause I’d just ruin them.”  
”Ye wouldn’t.”  
”Almost destroyed a fucking wedding dress one time, walking straight into it. Jack actually cried.”  
”That’s when he said ye’ve got scarecrow hands?”  
”Nah, that’s when I offered to give’im a massage and he claimed I hurt’im.”  
”Well, did ye?”  
”Probably. But he’s so fucking delicate he whines if I breathe too hard on’im.”  
  
I laugh again, realising I’m relaxing a little more. Apparently scarecrow hands suits me.  
  
”How was sleep tonight?”  
”Bad.”  
”Nightmares?”  
”Always…”  
  
I sigh.  
  
”Was a small one, but I' so fucking sick of’em…”  
”Maybe you should talk to Dr. Howell ’bout it. Your Zopiclone dose is a bit low.”  
”Makes me fall asleep though.”  
”Yeah, but you’re to remain asleep for a while too.”  
”If I get nightmares I guess it doesn’t matter.”  
”Course it does. Talk to the doc tomorrow, alright?”  
”When’s the appointment? I always forget…”  
”Half past ten. And I’ll keep track of time.”  
  
I know she does, but it feels good to hear it. And God knows I’d want to get a whole nights sleep again without fearing nightmares. I’m still tired. So damn tired.


	22. Billy (1st person)

You’re almost asleep, so tired my love… But smiling. You’re under the covers, Maread in her basket on the floor and your hands are heavy. Warm.  
  
”Billy… C’mere…”  
  
I lay down beside you. It’s too early for me to go to bed, but I don’t care. The increased dose of Zopiklon really does the trick for you. I’ve not seen you so heavy with sleepishness in months. Not with the soft smile you’re giving me now. I bury my nose in the crook of your neck, pulling the scent of you deep down in my lungs. It’s warm, sweet and so much _you_.  
  
”How are you feeling now?”  
”Tired.”  
”You’re relaxed?”  
”Yeah…”  
  
You smile.  
  
”Can’t ye feel it, hon? I’m like… jelly… Heavy jelly…”  
  
You didn’t want to increase the dose, me neither, but Dr. Howell insisted you should at least try it for a week. The usual dose makes you fall asleep but as you told me Anne pointed out, it doesn’t help much if you can’t stay asleep. I can’t remember the last time you slept normally for more than one night. Your sleep is always disturbed in some way, nightmares, tension or insomnia. Maybe this night, you can get some real rest.  
  
Your head is heavy against my chest, your poor head that has to live with the memories, the exhaustion, the pain and anxiety day and night. Perhaps, just perhaps there’s a chance that you can have your nights back again, so you can face the days a little easier.  
  
”I think… what Anne did… helped…”  
”I think so too.”  
  
I kiss your forehead, stroke your back, feeling the spine under your skin like little peaks of a mountain range. I miss your relaxed muscles, the warm flesh against my body. I miss falling asleep with more of you in my arms, miss waking up in a tangled lump of limbs and sweetness. Miss you so much I have to force myself not to cry now, saving my tears for later. There’s been passable nights, bad and right down awful ones. Even the best sleeps you’ve had since the assault, have never been fully peaceful from the moment of falling asleep to the moment of awakening.  
  
You’re a creature of the night and dawn. A moth, a blackbird, never fearing any darkness or wondering if the light will come back or not. Your mother taught you the night wasn’t anything to fear and you took it to heart. I miss the time when I could find you out in the garden in summer, asleep in a chair after having stayed up just to enjoy the night and early dawn. Miss carrying you back inside, how you smelled of nightly garden and felt heavy in my arms.  
  
I want to cry, because this is how you used to feel when I carried you. When I woke up before you in our bed and you wanted to sleep in while I made breakfast. This is you on a Saturday morning, or the day after a concert, your first vaccation week of the year or when you’ve had a grand opening with the theatre. Every sliver of normality given to us is simultaneously sweet and bitter and maybe that’s how it will be until you’re getting used to live again, not just survive.  
  
I want to stroke your skin, want to let my hands wander again like they could when you still wanted my touch. You want to want it, but that’s not the same. Nothing can be rushed or taken for granted.  Nothing can ever be spontaneous. The hate I feel is clouding my mind too. The vengeance I’ve set in motion is slow and would feel far sweeter if I had your approval. We’ve not talked about the argue we had and I’m not sure it’s necessairy, especially since I know you’d be furious and so fucking disappointed in me if you knew what I’m doing.  
  
Of course you’re sick of all the reminders of the assault, why wouldn’t you? You’re not even alone in your own mind anymore, of course everything else sooner or later feels like an intrusion. Your body becomes heavier against me and I can feel you’re sleeping. Your breaths are calm, your muscles lax. Maybe we could take another trip to town soon… Just have a coffee. _Maybe_ , baby. It’s such a deceitful word.


	23. Ned (3rd person)

He doesn’t dare to think of it as a real improvement at first. One night is nothing, two almost nothing. Three and four are luck, five are suspicious. The usual sedative at nine, then another tiny pill at half past ten and less than half an hour later, he’s out like a switched off light for almost eight hours. All it took was some increased doses.  
  
Ned knows it’s not that simple, but the relief is tremendous. The routine has become crucial, leaving nothing to chance and it also stops Billy a little from doing things spontaneously around the house. Predictability is a medicine too and every morning at six, Billy takes Maread out while Ned sleeps like he was paid for it. He never notices them leaving and fifteen minutes later, when Billy comes back and awakes him for the morning meds, he’s relaxed enough to go back to sleep again until breakfast.  
  
Earlier, the weariness made it more difficult to eat but not now. It’s still not normal portions, but the improvements Ned is too close to notice in the now, are there. Two more spoonfulls of porridge one day. Three less minutes for finishing an egg another. A gaze at Billy where the one seeing eye isn’t reddish, distant or troubled. Movements that look less painful because the pain actually is decreasing. As the spring is here for real now, Ned starts spending more time outside. He still has problem focusing while reading, so Anne read aloud to him at the balcony, as she did in the hospital.  
  
The fresh air and sunlight, the smells from the garden do him good. He can listen to the birds, see the trees blossom and throw stick with Maread. The panic attacks and flashbacks are still there, but leave him a little less whacked. He’s a bit absentminded, partly due to increased doses of sedatives, and sometimes Billy and Anne must repeat themselves because Ned didn’t hear the first time, but other than that it’s a heaven of emtional numbness where strong feelings can’t reach him like before. Billy worries at first, but the proof it’s working is very clear.  
  
Slowly, Ned starts smiling more often. Mostly at Maread, but also at movies, stuff Billy says and Anne’s blunt smalltalk that often contains a good amount of dark humour. Seeing friends is only managable for an hour and a half at a time, at most, and always at home. Ned still can’t be alone without Anne or Billy but he can actually see Ben, Jacob, Idelle or Max sometimes, as long as he knows what they’re doing and for how long. Seeing a movie, having a coffee and smalltalk. Mostly it’s his friends telling him what they’ve been up to and Ned just listens, nods and slips in a comment every now and then. He doesn’t want to talk about his day or week, because that’s a depressing subject. And it feels nice just being able to sit and listen without the pressure of contributing.  
  
As his stressed, tense and pained body gives in to relaxation without exhaustion, there is still a price to pay. Tears. It’s not like the last time, uncontrollable. If he has company, he has time to get somewhere private before he gives in. Before hiding his face in his hands, a pillow, Maread’s fur. Or, at night, in his husband’s arms. Billy’s massive arms, soothing, strong and warm, shushing Ned to rest again. His scent, voice and touch so familiar no nightmares can pass anymore. But with the return of peaceful sleep comes unbidden visitors as well.  
  
The night that smashed life as he knew it to pieces, isn’t satisfied with Ned’s sleep. When it can’t visit him in the darkness, it tries to break through the light of day. Not as nightmares but flashbacks. Reminders. Shame, guilt and disgust. Anger. The fact that so many people know. That he’s, however anonymous, been in the papers, that doctors and nurses have documentation of his most secret and shameful wounds, the state in which Billy has seen him, naked, helpless and torn.  
  
Ned lies to the psychologist. He doesn’t tell her he’s trying to forget, that he’s not trying to sit through the anxiety and allow himself to feel the difference between the past and his flashbacks. That he ones again just shuts the memories off, pretending the tears are only signs of bodily stress. And why shouldn’t he? After all, it helps. Ned counts the days, sees how their number grows and it’s such a relief, feeling he’s once again in control over something. With the meds and all his focus on doing whatever he can to make his body behave like before, to sleep, eat and move, re-taking what was stolen, Ned feels better about himself. The hurt, scared, lonely and crying man in the woods has been silenced, locked away in a safe place where he can no longer disturb Ned’s life. That’s when he finally feels he’s making progress.


	24. Billy (3rd person)

”Told ye I’m not doing it.”  
”Why?”  
”Cause I don’t feel like I need to. Could ye pass the carrots?”  
  
Billy hands over the boiled vegetables. His husband eats better now. He sleeps better, looks better. Everything visible seems to go in the right direction, faster than ever before. The dark rings under his eyes are fading by every day, the portions on his plate almost normal and only the overly slow pace is an anomali that really shows. Ned is focused, determined to follow whatever guidelines the doc has recommended to improve. Billy should be thrilled by that, not annoyed that Ned doesn’t want to try the online therapy group. But he is.  
  
”You told me to contact them.”  
”Aye, but I’ve changed me mind.”  
  
The tone isn’t hard, just very definite and Billy drops the subject. Since increasing the meds, Ned’s improvement has been impossible to ignore. To see him sleep peacefully and eat normally again is like winning fucking lottery. At the same time, Billy is worried. Ned seems… shut off and Billy doesn’t like that at all. But when thinking of that, he also feels bad for not liking it. Ned’s been through hell the last months and who’s Billy to deny him a break? Why should Ned be forced to constantly work with his feelings, reliving the trauma in nightmares and get completely exhausted?  
  
There’s a wall between days and nights and Billy fully understands why Ned doesn’t want to tear it down. The flashbacks varies in number, but always leave him very tired and he doesn’t want comfort. Not while it’s light. Ned shuts himself away with Maread, cries in her fur and refuses to talk about it.   
  
Billy moves around the piece of salmon in the sauce on his plate.  
  
”Ned, I’m worried about you.”  
”Why? I’m improving.”  
”Yes, but…”  
”But not fast enough?”  
  
There it is again. The definite tone. Like a guard. _No further, you’re trespassing._ And the worst thing is, Billy has no right to blame him but he still feels shut out. Worried. This hardness, the blank surface the meds provides Ned with, makes him harder to reach. Billy sighs.  
  
”That’s not what I meant and you know that. You’ve done one hell of an improvement the last weeks and I’m so happy you don’t even know, but… you’re not talking to me anymore.”  
  
Ned puts his fork down, the one seeing eye fixed on the half-eaten salmon, carrots and potatos on the plate. He has his hair in a scruffy bun and wears a Satyricon t-shirt over a grey longsleeve. The cotton fabric hangs loose around him, but the slow adding of necessairy pounds is showing if you know his body as well as Billy does. Less visible veins, softer skin. And right now, the one seeing eye is as hard as the artificial.  
  
”Ye worried ’bout me not sleeping, now I sleep. Ye worried ’bout me not eating, now I eat. Ye worried ’bout me scratching and I’m not scratching anymore. I’m seeing a shrink, I take me meds and they work. I see friends and I have a fucking watch dog around me all the time and when ye’re not at home, I have an assistant looking after me like I’m some damn _amadán_.”  
  
His fingers are whitening as he clench his fists.  
  
”When will I be allowed to just fucking _live_ again?”  
  
The voice is so strained, so desperately trying to sound normal, Billy can almost see how his husband fights to keep the thoughts away, his feelings under control.   
  
”I’m sorry. Hon, I’m really sorry. If you don’t want to try the group, then of course you don’t have to. Hey… Please don’t let this upset you. I didn’t mean to nag at you.”  
  
He reaches his hand out over the table, waiting as Ned relaxes a little and allows the contact. The fingers are a bit cold, still fidgeting.   
  
”I’m not going to that group, Billy.”  
”You don’t have to. And you don’t owe me or anyone else an explanation.”  
  
With the ignored pain practically radiating from Ned, it’s hard to pretend not seeing it. The more Ned tries to not think about it, the more Billy feels it. It’s going right inside his mind and heart, turned to images of how that night could’ve been for his husband. The absolute fear, the pain and humiliation, the blooded steps in the snow, the utter loneliness and vulnerability. Things no one should have to endure, memories of them no one would want to keep alive.   
  
Ned lifts his fork again, sticks it through a piece of salmon and eats. They’re still holding hands. Billy’s not allowed any further, but at least he’s not pushed away. For now, he must be content with that.


	25. Ned (1st person)

I used to like it. The way people look at you, at us. It made me feel happy, proud that you were mine. Safe, loved and so damn lucky. You’re never ashamed of us, of holding my hand in public, hugging or kissing me. Ever since we met for the first time, I’ve felt how different your eyes are when you only see me. How you seem able to just shut all other things out and forget the entire surroundings for long moments. And people who saw how you looked at me, watched with surprise, wonder. Sometimes hate, but I’m good at ignoring those. I don’t care about looks from people barely twenty either, while teenage boys tend to avoid their usual slurs because of your huge muscles and teenage girls absolutely melt over you and I can’t blame them.  
  
I’ve been a teen, staring at guys but never so openly, so I don’t take offense. What does offend me, is when men and women stare. How they undress you with their eyes and, when noticing me, get that questioning look like I’m ruining their view. Wondering what I’ve done to get so lucky and how you’ve not made a better catch. Those looks hurt, but there has been those who’ve been sweet as well. And I liked them, they reminded me of our happiness and the fact that we don’t have to hide it. Now every gaze feels like I’m put on display.  
  
It’s Saturday and the stores have just opened, so it’s not crowded yet. Instead of my parka, I wear two layers of thermal underwears, to not draw attention. It’s far too warm for parkas if you’re a normal person and I don’t want people to stare more than they already do. With the re-stitched jeans and my thin spring jacket, I almost look normal. Maread trots beside me and I smile. God, I love that dog.  
  
We’re supposed to meet John and Ben for coffee. You didn’t push any further the other night and I’ve slept well. I can do this, I can do normal stuff.   
  
”That would suit you.”  
”What?”  
”That shirt.”  
  
Apparently we’re just passing a clothing store and you’re nodding at a brown-striped button-down in the window. You’re right, I would suit me. If I’d been my usual size. In the window I suddenly see a woman. She’s neat, healthy-looking and walks with confident steps. When she sees you, she lets her eyes linger and I have to swallow, swallow, swallow as hard as possible not to cry.   
  
”I want to go home.”  
  
You don’t answer at first, just pulling me close, holding me like I was the dearest thing in the world to you.  
  
”People stare, that’s how it is. At me, you, us. But I don’t want them to ruin our day. And you have to admit, that shirt is your colour.”  
  
I smile.  
  
”Ye sound like John.”  
”Speak of the devil… There he is.”  
”Hellooo, darlings!”  
  
John is like a walking advertiser for spring in his tight jeans, v-necked t-shirt and open shirt with blue dots. By the way he greets us, he’s a pretty good advertiser for gayness as well. Ben rolls his eyes, only to wave in the gayest way ever and then give me a hard hug.  
  
”God, I’ve missed you!”  
  
It’s a whisper, the hug is long and I realise I’ve missed him too. A lot. I used to see him at least two or three times a week. At the theatre, at cafés or at his or my place. I met Jacob too, of course, but Ben’s my closest friend and I’ve shut him out almost completely since _that_ happened. I’ve seen him, but we’ve never done any of our stuff or talked. I practically squeeze him now and he strokes my back.  
  
”If Jacob saw us he’d get jealous.”  
  
We’re both smiling as we split and I can see that Ben looks damn fabulous, already a little tanned and smiling like a walking sunshine with strains of hair constantly falling in his face. I think he’s the only man on Earth who actually looks good in a man bun and not like a fucking hipster. He hugs you too and then John, because this is Ben and soon we’re on our way to Tea Amo, listening to John and Ben gossiping like old ladies. As usual, I just have to listen and you give me an eyeroll and a smile. Our friends make it easy for me by just being themselves.  
  
We enter the café and I order a cappuccino. Maread stays very obedient by my side and I feel quite safe in my corner. When you give me a kiss on cheek I blush and feel very ridiculous for thinking ”there are girls in here”, like a ten-year-old boy. But then I lean onto you, letting you put your arm around me and the tension bleeds from me again, a little at time. I like it like this, being close without you looking at me. I feel almost fine until three women sit down by the table next to us.  
  
I don’t know them, not even sure if I’ve seen them before, but the smell hits me like a punch in the guts. Cinnamon and chewing gum. And then I feel the familiar paws on me, the dark eyes looking up at me saying I’m not in danger. The women next to us are not the ones from that night and the panic dies before it has any chance to spread, only leaving me as stiff as a statue, my hand immovable around the cup with warm beverage. You’re nuzzling my temple, whispering:  
  
”Everything’s alright, babe. You’re not being watched and noone’s gonna hurt you.”  
  
It takes a little while before I dare to look around, only to see nothing dangerous is happening. John and Ben are blabbering like usual, the women by the other table seem to be deep into a conversation and not giving a shit about the other guests. You’re sipping on your coffee and Maread silently begs for treats. I always keep some dog treaties with me and I search through my pockets. It’s not nice to let my four-legged friend watch while we eat.   
  
The coffee is heavenly and the caffein makes me more alert. Too alert. The women next to us stare. _Blink_. Not at me, at you and I’ve had enough because they’re fucking _flirting_.  
  
”Will ye please stop blinking at me husband?”  
  
I speak in normal voice and the women hear me. I look at them, just feeling so damn tired of this and they’re blushing, turning their backs on us. I feel like I’ve made a scene, but then Ben folds his arms and snorts.  
  
”See, this is what I’m dealing with _everytime_ I’m out with Jacob. I’m starting to think we’re gonna have to move our date nights to the hockey rink. At least no one will try to steal him from me there.”  
  
John laughs.  
  
”Don’t be so sure of that. Have I told you when I went down on a guy at half time at Lee Valley Ice Centre?”  
  
You and Ben roll your eyes and you just shake your head. John looks pleased and rubs his hands.  
  
”I haven’t? Oh, well, since my prude half isn’t here…”  
”John, please…”  
  
You’re protesting, but Ben grins.  
  
”Yeah, John, _please_ tell us… I’ve always wondered what’s the point with hockey.”  
”If you insist…”  
  
And just like that, our friends smoothly helps me – us – over and the rest of the time, I sit and listen to our friends, successfully hiding how the smell of cinnamon and chewing gum makes me screaming internally, despite the pills I’ve swallowed, the two paws on my thighs and your arm around my shoulders. The only new clothes that would suit me, would be a straight jacket.


	26. Billy (1st person)

”Is Ned at home?”  
”He’s sleeping.”  
”At this hour?”  
”Yeah, he’s still tired.”  
”He’s ill again, or what?”  
”He’s been unwell for a while, Mr. Low.”  
  
Phelan has never become Phelan or Phil or anything like it to me. Have only talked to him a few times and it’s never ended well. Accepting that his son is gay,and by that accepting me, seems impossible. The almost scornful voice in the other end, doesn’t sound like anything has changed.  
  
”What’s wrong with him?”  
”He was assaulted, as you know.”  
”Aye, a long time ago. His maw told me. Not surprised.”  
  
I swallow.  
  
”What do you mean?”  
”Ye know, just that being too public…”  
”He’s your _son_ , for fucks sake! And how the hell do you know why he was attacked when you don’t even bother to fucking ask, huh? Ned wasn’t assaulted for being gay and even if he was, it shouldn’t make any fucking difference to you.”  
”Don’t have to be so damn worked up about it.”  
”He could’ve died! Did Elan or Fiona told you that? If he’d been found just slightly later, your son could’ve _died_ , Mr. Low! Do you even care?”  
”It’s not as if he’s called me himself.”  
  
Not crying while on the phone with your father is hard right now and I force away anything that could push me over that edge.  
  
”And why do you think he hasn’t? You pretty much told him you didn’t want anything to do with him if he married me and then you sent him a fucking _hate_ letter. You have any idea how much that hurt him?”  
”I spoke me mind and…”  
”You called him _queer amoeba_ and told him to divorce me!”  
”Oh, and now ye’ve told’im he shouldn’t talk to me?”  
”You think _I_ had to tell him that? Ned’s perfectly capable of telling you to stay away himself. What do you even want?”  
”To know how he’s doing.”  
”He almost died. Twice. First during the assault and then from the PTSD. He got pneumonia, internal bleedings, a fucking ulcer and lost twentyseven pounds. He’s had nightmares, flashbacks and needs a service dog to go with him everywhere. That dog saved his life.”  
  
Silence. I can hear him trying to find out what to say. Your father is a selfish, homophobic  asshole, but he’s not evil. He’s not a bloody sociopath but I don’t have patience for this.  
  
”Tell me you care, Mr. Low. You didn’t call while he was in hospital, didn’t call on his birthday… Please, for once in your life, could you care about _his_ feelings and not just your own?”  
”Just… tell him I called. Please?”  
”Yeah?”  
  
Hard breaths. How are you even related to this piece of shit?  
  
”Tell him I said hello, alright? That I hope he’ll get better soon and…”  
”And what?”  
”I’m sorry. About the letter.”  
”As if he’d believe you.”  
  
I just turn off the call and I’m shaking. Literally shaking. It’s too much for me to handle right now. Everything that’s happened. The pain, the nightmares, the memories that make you cry, panic and just crumble with fear. The mood swings, my own worry and the hate I must keep at bay. And the time downtown has shown me a jealousy I didn’t know you had.  
  
No, not jealousy. Insecurity. I don’t know how it feels to walk beside someone people are ogling after. It’s not that I flatter myself, it’s just a fact. I’ve not made any more moves against the assholes, but people looking at me like the women on the café, remind me of how Woodes used to look at me, like I was a challenge… And you noticed that, too. Because even if I want it to be a wild, bizarr and awful imagination, it’s quite possible Woodes did this to you, simply because he wanted to get to me. As some form of fucking twisted revenge for me wanting _you_ and not him.  
  
I walk upstairs to check on you, only to find you in your old armchair, legs over the armrest and headphones on. Your old jeans and knitted socks, the cardigan and mitts all so familiar. Your long hair hanging loosely over your shoulders and you have Maread in your lap, which looks ridiculous but also so… damn sweet. Safe and comforting. You’re scratching her head, humming along a little with the music – something slow, dark and heavy – the cover lays on the small table beside you. _Ereb Altor_. The name of the album spelled in some kind of runes and the evening sun is shining on the floor planks.  
  
You look relaxed. Only Maread and the still too large jeans, the wrinkled shirt under your cardigan and the scrawny hands can tell it’s not just an ordinary night. Or is it? Is this our new normal? The thought almost makes me cringe.  
  
The way you’re petting Maread is so lovingly. You’re so good with animals. And people. If I don’t watch myself, I’ll see the image of you holding our kid in my head. It’s an image I get more and more often. I can see how you’d sit with him or her like this, in your chair, humming her to sleep. Her? Yes, for some reason I think it more as a _she_ , don’t know why. I can picture you holding her in your arms, as a small bundle, a chubby toddler or a seven-year-old crawling up for a goodnight kiss. _Da, what are you listening to? Ah, ye wanna hear, little bird? C’mere.Brushed yer teeth yet?_  
  
”Hon?”  
  
Our daughter disappears and you’re looking at me, slightly concerned, taking your headphones off. I blush.  
  
”Sorry, didn’t mean yo scare you.”  
”Ye didn’t.”  
  
You’re smiling. A very tired smile, but soft and almost happy. Then, you cry. You’re exhausted, of course, and I kneel and swirl my arms around you as you sob.  
  
”Don’t know why I’m…”  
”Hey, it’s okay, babe. Don’t have to explain. It’s alright, it’s alright, Ned, I promise.”  
  
I rock you slowly in my arms. I’m so used to your mood swings, the sudden tears, panic attacks and anger I’m rarely surprised by any of it anymore. I shush you gently, nuzzling your neck, but you’re crying like someone’s turned on a tap. Definately not the right moment to tell you about Phelan.  
  
”You don’t have to talk. You know that, right? If you want to, I’m here, but you decide.”  
”Thanks…”  
  
You shouldn’t thank me. I’m not giving you permission, I’m reminding you that you don’t need any. I stroke your back, your still scrawny shoulders.  
  
”Ned?”  
”What?”  
”If you want to, I promise I wont speak about the group thing ever again. If you choose to try it, you don’t have to tell me, on one condition.”  
”And what’s that?”  
”Let Anne know.”  
”Why? To make ye feel like someone’s watching me for ye?”  
”No.”  
  
I sigh into the crook of your neck and keep stroking your tense, exhausted muscles.  
  
”To know you have someone who can help you back home in case you get too tired.”


	27. Ned (3rd person)

He’s already regretting the decision. Should’ve gone with the online thing. Or nothing at all. Six other men in various ages are sitting in the circle, one of them a fairly rough looking man named Morley, who’s apparantly the leader of this group. Bluegreen eyes, brown, unevenly cut hair with some grey in it.  
  
”Today we’re welcoming Ned to our group.”  
  
Ned’s half expecting some creepy ”hi, Ned” in chorus, or ”my name is Morley, and I’m a rape victim”. He’s probably seen too many bad movies. The chair is comfortable and the room far less depressing than he thought. And the other men look… normal. One is clearly fifty plus, another seems to be a bodybuilder and there’s one who looks more like a teen than a man. Ned has never been good at deciding age. They all say hi, but not in chorus and Ned just nods and swallows.  
  
”Hi.”  
  
It feels wrong. He shouldn’t be here and he takes a deep breath.  
  
”I… I should go…”  
  
Morley looks at him, calm and serious.  
  
”I think most of us felt the same the first time.”  
  
The other men nods and the bodybuilder scratches his head.  
  
”Still feel that the first half of every session, you know. Still coming, though.”  
  
Ned doesn’t know what to answer. He still wants to leave, to just go back outside to Maread and Anne and get home. Morley assures him it’s okay to just listen, that he doesn’t have to share something this time, if he doesn’t want to. And, as Ned has heard so many times now, they’re all under professional secrecy.  
  
The bodybuilder starts. Eric. He got drugged and raped by his then girlfriend two years ago. He didn’t break up until six months after the assault. He has nightmares and Morley asks if he wants to share something from them. Eric shrugs.  
  
”Most of the time I don’t remember them, really.  I mean, I wake up all fucking sweaty and heart speeding, but I never remember.”  
  
Ned just listens. Watches. His eyes get stuck on details. Morley’s scar on his left cheek. Eric’s way of scraping his heels on the floor. Lars’ tired eyes in the dark face and the way he keeps pressing his lips hard together. They’re talking. One at the time, no one tries to interrupt anyone. Ned’s not aware of how he’s pulled his knee under his chin, how he’s holding onto his own leg for dear life, while listening to the men talking about the thing he’s tried to avoid talking about or even thinking of for months. Morley’s eyes are coming back to him every now and then, like he’s pulling Ned into the circle not with words, but just a look, and Ned listens.  
  
_It’ll be a year next Sunday and I just want to… you know, get sedated or something…_  
  
_I’ve promised my wife we’ll take the kids to London Zoo this weekend and it’s just a few blocks away from…_  
  
_No one knows. I’d planned on telling my brother, when he came home from Australia, but there’s never a good time. We used to be real fucking close and I can see he knows there’s something, but what am I to say? That I broke up with Denise because she…_  
  
”Do you want to share anything, Ned?”  
  
No. No he doesn’t. But he’s choking on it. The secret only Billy knows of. And doctor Howell and Emily Hudson. Ned’s blood feels cold and he’s dizzy, but he’s staying still on the chair.  
  
”T’was me husband’s ex. And his two friends. A man and two women.”  
  
He’s freezing. The thick cardigan feels way too thin and he’s pressing his arms tighter around his leg.  
  
”Was on me way home from a concert. Behemoth. Didn’t… watch me drink properly.”  
”Not your fault, man.”  
  
Lars says it so simple, without frustration or worry, and it’s in that moment when Ned, for the first time feels like someone truly understands it. Not only means it, but really fucking understand the unspoken guilt and fear that wont leave.


	28. Billy (3rd person)

It takes almost four days after the group session before it happens. Yes, of course Billy knows Ned’s been to the group. It’s one of those things he just knows. On the evening the same day, his husband was completely exhausted and had to skip dinner in favour of a couple nutritional drinks and an early bed. He slept like he’d been sedated and spent the next day curled up in his old chair with Maread, too tired to talk. Non of it surprising.  
  
On the third day, he starts to answer with little more than ”aye”, ”sure”, ”no”, shrugs and nods. Then, about fifteen minutes after Saturday lunch, the fourth day, Billy hears the most wretched, lonely sound coming from upstairs and he runs from the kitchen and takes the stairs in three huge steps.  
  
His husband is in his own room, crosslegged on the floor and he’s clutching his tummy, rocking back and forth while hyperventilating. He’s pale like a sheet but with angrily flushed spots on his cheeks and down his throat. Maread is with him, of course, keeping her paws on his thighs, but Ned wont let Billy near. He’s lost in whatever horror that’s been triggered and all Billy can do is to stay put.  
  
He sits down, keeping enough distance between them to give Ned and Maread space. The trusted golden retriever is keeping her daddy attached to the know with her warm, unthreatening body, but the panic attack is still awful to witness. It’s one of those far too long gone not to leave Ned completely shattered and horrible as it is, there’s nothing to be done about it except just staying with him through it. Billy knows that the best he can do, is to be completely calm, the unshakable rock waiting for Ned to grab onto him willingly.  
  
Billy doesn’t move, doesn’t touch, doesn’t hush or talk. He sings. Soft and quiet, humming the first song coming to mind, one from their wedding.  
  
” _Come stop your crying, it will be alright. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you, from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry... For one so small, you seem so strong, my arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm. This bond between us, can't be broken. I will be here, don't you cry…_ ”  
  
But of course he does. And the familiar, loving voice breaks through the panic and carries Ned over the worst panic one small step at the time.  
  
” _Why can’t they understand the way we feel? They just don’t trust what they can’t explain. I know we’re different, but deep inside us we’re not that different at all…_ ”  
  
The time after their engagement and their wedding is probably the happiest time in their lives. They spent their honeymoon mostly at home, being completely ridiculous and sappy from just having their home together, just the way they wanted. Also, to be honest, is was a perfect way to get rested before Christmas and Ned’s Irish and Billy’s English families who wanted to meet the new family members. In an evil pact, Elan and Fiona decided to get Billy completely wasted on Boxing Day and Hal, who was rather tipsy and hadn’t been to Ireland in a very long time, had engaged Ned in a neverending discussion about  his own memories of the green island – and some late marriage advices Ned wasn’t in need of but too polite and amused to tell his father-in-law…  
  
” _Cause you’ll be in my heart. Believe me you’ll be in my heart… I’ll be there from this day on, now and forever more. You’ll be in my heart. No matter what they say, you’ll be in my heart, always…_ ”  
  
Billy’s not the greatest singer in the world, but it’s Ned’s favourite voice singing a song from their wedding, a reminder of a very, very happy time. The soft humming pulls Ned back to the present and when the panic has decreased enough for him to lean over Maread, his husband comes closer and reaches his hand out.  
  
It’s too much to handle for Ned. He breaks. A sob, so heavy is seems without bottom, leaves his tense body and the pieces of him land in Billy’s protective arms.  
  
There is no panic, no fear or attempt to hide anything now, just layer after layer of a long since grown sorrow. Yes, pain and sorrow, nothing more, and so heartwrenching to hear, Billy cries too. Ned finally shares something again, even if it’s not words.


	29. Ned (1st person)

_The best thing to do is to talk about how you feel._ _It will make you feel better._ Bullshit most of us have been told. Open up doesn’t fucking work like that and I feel like shit. Don’t know what I expected from this, but I guess I’m to be congratulated at least I didn’t see myself feeling all relieved and strong. I’ve spent two days unable to keep any food down except for some nutrional drinks and I can’t stand human company. It rather feels like I’m going backworth.   
  
I keep reliving the session in my head over and over again, like some bloody commercial. It’s better than reliving the assau… _rape_. Both doctor Howell and Emily Hudson have pointed out the importance of calling it by the right name, but I’ve never really been able to. Sitting in that room with six other men who just knew, who didn’t judge or needed an explanation... No, I don’t feel better, just less lonely, and the reason I cry so much again, Emily believes is due to the loss of tension. That I’ve been fighting so hard to keep silent and just stay alive since that night, this is simply my brain reacting to another shock. Maybe she’s right, I don’t know.   
  
Girls and women get raped by boys and men. Children by both men and women. Boys and men get raped by girls and women. Girls and women get raped by other girls and women. Boys and men get raped by other boys and men. Regardless of age, physical strenght or sexual orientation. Regardless of clothing and bodytype.   
  
_I tried to tell a friend. He’s a former friend now…_  
  
_I know it’s fucked up, but I’ve hated gays since it happened. It’s so bloody stupid, I don’t even know if he was gay and even if he was, it doesn’t matter. But… I mean, I wasn’t homophobic before…_  
  
_… it’s a natural part of a healing process, Lars. We can’t control what we feel, but being aware of that and understanding when it leads us to an illogical conclusion, is to take control.  
  
I’m gay and ace.  
  
What’s ace?  
  
Asexual. Means I don’t want sex in general. I’m… romantically into guys but I don’t want sex.   
  
_ I don’t know if it’s important, if they will understand, but at least they don’t question the existance of my orientation or tell me I should or could change.  
  
_Respect towards ourselves and each other is crucial. Every man in here has his own story and the right to his own feelings. We can ask, but we don’t question. We’re open, but not intrusive. We encourage each other to talk, but we respect boarders._  
  
Morley pointed out that in order to benefit the most from this, we need to share more than we’re comfortable with, but we don’t owe anyone to share something in return. What we do owe each other, is to listen. To be patient.  
  
_By listening to others without judging, by hearing others talk to us without judgment, we can learn how to listen to ourselves the same way._  
  
I don’t feel better, I feel like I’ve been flayed and the next session is tomorrow. Am I supposed to feel like this after those meetings? I want to skip it, to text Morley and tell him I can’t make it. But even if I wasn’t emotionally prepared for how exhausted this made me, I understand it logically. I’ve been told so many times from so many people that the weariness isn’t at all strange. That it will take loads and loads of my already decreased energy resources in order to be effective in the long run.  
  
_As men, a lot of us grow up without ever being tought how to deal with emotions. We’re told it’s making us stronger, but by ignoring what we feel, we do the exact opposite. We’re human beings, we break too. That’s not an opinion or a belief. It’s a fact. We get hurt too. We get raped too._   
  
We. I’m one among others again. It’s a unity no one wants to need, but it’s still a unity. When the guy who looked like a teen, Mark, started crying seemingly out of nowhere and no one batted an eye, not forcing themselves onto him or made a big deal about it, I still didn’t feel comfortable at all. But for once the discomfort was shared for real. Because we all, in our own way and to some extent, just fucking _knew_.


	30. Billy (1st person)

You know how insufferable newly in love people, proud parents or puppy owners are? Those kind of people who’re looking at their partners, kids or fucking pets like they’re the eight wonder of the world. That’s me now and no, I’m not gonna apologies for it.  
  
I’m not sure if others can see it, but I can. You’ve taken another step ahead and it’s not a small one. Just going to the group is huge in itself. Then two almost mute days, a third when you started talking a little and then the fourth and the exhausted tears before you seemed able to actually step out from the therapy room not just with your feet but in your mind. I don’t have to ask if you’re going to the next meeting today, I know you will.  
  
This morning, you’re eating a little better again. I’ve not been onto you about food since the meeting, because I’ve seen how difficult it’s been for you to keep it down unless it’s liquid, but I’ve been worried. Seeing you having half a slice of buttered toast, a small smoothie and some tea without clutching your tummy is a relief. You can’t sit straight though. You’re having one leg pulled to your chest, pressed against you while eating, like you’re trying to lock the food down the way you’re trying to lock the panic away when you have an attack.  
  
How is this a beautiful view? Shouldn’t I get sad? Frustrated? Angry? Apparently not. I didn’t have to ask Anne to break her professional silence (which she never would) or try to press you for information to know you made some sort of major breakthrough last Thursday. I’ve realised now how much it takes just to wind down, digest and just live through the therapy for you, and I sort of want to apologies to you, for my earlier impatience. For begging you to talk and share, without understanding what I actually asked. Now I do, at least a lot more than before.  
  
You’re struggling with your breakfast, not because you’re trying to silence all the voices in your head, but because you’ve started to let them out and got a mental muscle fever from it. Bodily too, I can tell, so I feel like I’m looking at injuries from a battle you yourself chose to fight and I think I have every fucking right to be a proud and insufferable husband because of it. Except Anne, I don’t think anyone would understand just how huge it is to see you right now. You’re eating very slow, but your shoulders aren’t tense, meaning you’re not struggling mentally with the food, which is amazing. You’re simply still too physically tired to eat enough without feeling sick and that’s a whole different thing than when you’re struggling because of tension and anxiety.  
  
I love to see your fingers around the cup, because they look almost normal. Still a bit thin, but you didn’t take the anxiety and stress out on your hands this time, or any other bodypart. Your blunt nails are not partly broken, your fingertips not sore from anxious chewing or clawing. You’re having your hair in half a ponytail, which I haven’t seen you in for months. It’s falling below your shoulders now in soft, lightbrown waves and you’re wearing your old Bathory t-shirt with the classic goat, bleached from too many washings and – yeah, that’s right – _tight_ jeans.   
  
For fucks sake, Billy, calm down! _Get a grip before you freak out your husband._ But it’s amazing, it really is. I’ve not seen you in that particular pair since before the assault which means Idelle hasn’t changed them for you. They don’t actually fit, still hanging quite loose, but the fact that you’re wearing them at all is amazing, considering how utterly uncomfortable you are with your body. A few days of sickness is more than enough to give your weight gain a backlash, because you get too tired to eat and then the lack of food makes you more tired and the vicious circle is spinning. But here you are, in your ”tight” jeans having small mouthfuls of toast and smoothie with Maread laying beside your chair all calm, because she knows her daddy isn’t having a panic attack or about to have one now…   
  
”Babe…”  
  
Your voice is soft and very tired and you’re leaving your chair and head over to me, swirling your arms around my head. That’s when I realise I’m crying. You sit down on my lap and just hold me, massaging my scalp and lean onto my shoulder.  
  
”What’s with the tears, muppet?”  
  
I smile, even laugh a little through my crying and you’re kissing my hair. I try to stroke my tears away, still laughing.  
  
”You’re having toast… and jeans.”  
  
Crap. I sound like a total idiot, not to mention I shouldn’t make you feel like I’m watching you all the time, but you just chuckle a little and scratch my scalp again.  
  
”Ye’re worse than a first-time da right now, ye know that, right?”  
”Absolutely and I’m not gonna appologies for it.”  
”Not gonna ask ye to.”  
  
You’re taking my face between your hands and slot our mouths together. Your tongue is warm and slick, we’ve not kissed like this for a while now and I’ve missed it so much. Your kisses are soft but have an almost harsh, very manly taste and once when we were drunk, I tried to describe it to you, only making you cry from laughter because let’s be honest, I’m not exactly a poet and especially not when I’ve had too many beers.  
  
You’re placing another kiss on my forehead and your one seeing eye is very soft, almost happy.  
  
”Anne’s coming any minute.”  
  
Right. And we’re not showing her our sappy side, at least not on purpose. You leave my lap, start clearing the table and I’m reminded of the meeting and the possibly extremely exhausted husband I’ll be coming home to tonight. I want to bring home something nice for you. A fancy wine, flowers, that shirt you saw when we were in town with Anne. I’m not John, but yes, I do remember when I’ve seen something that would suit you. Not that I don’t love your nerdy metal t-shirts, they’re simply so very much _you_ , but that shirt…   
  
On a second thought, maybe not. It was one thing when you had a normal body, but if I’m buying you something now it will either be too big for you to wear now or too small when you’re gaining weight. Not a good idea.  
  
”Hon, ye’re staring at me… Is there an anniversery of some sort I’ve forgotten about?”  
”Not that I know of. Guess I’m just even more in love with you today.”  
  
You give me an amused look, like you’re about to tease me for my sappiness, but then your weary face lits up in an actual smile, one that’s not coloured from sadness, exhaustion, pain or sedatives and it’s absolutely fucking breathtaking, making me wanna take you in my arms, go upstairs and stay in bed cuddling for the rest of the day and you just shake your head because you know me so well.  
  
”Ye have work and I have appointments.”  
”As in plural?”  
”Uhm… yeah.”  
  
You’re looking slightly defensive and I kiss your cheek and give you a smile I hope is reassuring.  
  
”Anne and Maread… they’re going with you?”  
”Of course.”  
  
I don’t ask anything more, don’t tell you to call me if you need to or any other advices you probably don’t need and you’re rewarding my attempt to give you space and not interfering, with a hug practically screaming from gratitude. And I want to torture and slowly murder the three monsters who stole your safety, privacy and confidence and forced you into battle, trying to regain every fucking piece of your life.


	31. Ned (3rd person)

”You alright, Ned?”  
”Think so.”  
  
Think so. Maybe. Not sure. Probably not… Ned takes a deep breath and opens the door. He’s never been to this place before and the biggest fear now is that someone will reckognize him, or notice him at all. The place was reckommended by the Hamilton’s, Anne has double checked service dogs and PC assistants were allowed and also helped Ned contact Dr. Howell to get his approval.   
  
Ned is extremely tired and it’s probably not a good idea to do this the same day as the group, but the class is supposed to be very gentle and specially customized for people dealing with pain and stress. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but Anne manages to catch the instructor before the class starts and judging by the woman’s nod and smile and the note she makes on the list of participants, it’s alright.  
  
When more participants start dropping in, some of them talking to each other, Anne is back by Ned’s side, reminding him in a low voice not reaching anyone but him, that he doesn’t have to talk to or even look at anyone, that the instructor wont introduce him aloud to the group. Anne has already fetched two yoga mats for them, she wont participate herself of course, but help Ned with the moves when needed, as discrete as possible.  
  
Ned still can’t make himself look at anyone, he’s sitting on the mat, keeping himself half-turned away and Maread has her paws on his thighs. He keeps reminding himself there will be others with pain here, that it’s not some fancy workout for already fit people and that he’s had both painkillers, sedatives and Metoclopramide for the nausea. He rarely uses that medicine since it makes him too tired and messes with his stomach even if it decreases the nausea. But the thought of getting sick in this place is not exactly tempting.  
  
”Good morning, everyone and welcome to today’s class.”  
  
The instructor interrupts Ned thoughts and he turns around and tries to focus on her, which is easier now as everyone have their faces in that direction. Ned feels clumsy and messy in his old combats and hoodie, there are only women here and they all look far more tidy in their yoga pants, tanktops and neat little workout jackets. At least no one’s distracted by Maread, which is even better.  
  
The class begins with inhale/exhale while standing, nothing unexpected about that. The problem for Ned is to actually feel whether he’s standing straight and maintaining his balance and that’s where Anne comes in. Ned trusts her with his body almost as much as he trusts Billy and she will help him by simply being his physical support, so he doesn’t have to be afraid of loosing balance or hurt himself. It would be even better with Billy, but even if he could attend, Ned wouldn’t want him to. Not only would it make this less private – and Ned needs privacy – it would also cause a lot more ogling from the other participants. It’s not always easy being married to a six foot five Adonis women drool after in public.  
  
Yoga is, as Ned realises, not so bad once you can sit down. It’s very slow, the instructor’s voice is clear and calm, easy to follow and with Anne as a reliable support close by, as well as Maread, Ned is able to focus more on the actual exercise than the surroundings.  
  
Everyone is focused on themselves, no other participants can actually see his body. When it comes to laying down, it feels more anxious, but Maread is close beside the mat and when Ned can feel her on one side and Anne on the other, it goes easier. His stomach at least stays silent even if it hurts a little. Most of his body does and it feels strange to actually focus on it, instead of trying to forget about it. It’s alright when it comes to legs and arms, back and chest, while the area around his stomach, underbelly and ass is a whole different matter. Focusing on the parts of his body where most of the painful memories, worry and not to mention shame, are concentrated, is anything but a pleasant experience, but he makes it through.  
  
He fucking makes it through. No vomits, no panic attacks, no fainting or falling in a pile of of pitiful bones for all to see. Wouldn’t have made it without Anne or Maread and by the end of the only thirty minutes long class, Ned’s shaking and has to sit down and drink some juice they brought with them, to regain a little energy. Anne sits behind him for the rest of the class, just holding him and Ned feels completely fine with that. Maread is laying next to him and has her head on Ned’s thigh, making the class finish way, way smoother than it could’ve been.  
  
His body doesn’t hurt from overworking, it’s not difficult to breathe and he’s not tense. But he’s tired. Good God, he feels like he could sleep for a week… He probably should worry about not being able to go through with the group therapy this afternoon, but he’s just too tired to care.


	32. Billy (3rd person)

”You’re kidding me?”  
”Nope.”  
”Jesus…”  
  
Charles looks so surprised Billy frowns.  
  
”What? I’m not following his every step.”  
”No?”  
”Not _every_ step.”  
”If you say so.”  
  
Billy glares at his friend, who sips on his club soda and looks far too pleased.  
  
”I swear, I have no idea where he is. He’s got Maread and Anne going with him, but I don’t know what they’re doing.”  
”Maybe they took a flight to Ireland so Ned could get some space? Ouch!”  
  
The kick on Charles’ leg isn’t very hard, but Billy’s shoe is and Charles puts his hands up.  
  
”Okay, okay, not funny. Well, a little…”  
  
Billy has to laugh. It’s nice to see Charles again, even if it’s just on a short lunch break. Charles work late evenings and since Billy works fulltime – mostly – again, there’s a silent understanding that his evenings still belong to Ned. He’s not attended football practice for real again and the team seem to understand. Not that they know the real reason, but they know _something_ is going on, that prevents Billy from playing this season. Charles nods at him.  
  
”How’s he doing? How are _you_ doing?”  
  
Always straight to the point. Charles is blunt, but Billy appreciates that feature.  
  
”We’re… There’s progress, I guess.”  
”You guess?”  
  
Billy sighs.  
  
”No, I don’t guess. He is making progress, for real.”  
”Good. That’s really good to hear, Billy. We’ve been worried.”  
”Yeah… It’s difficult. I think he’s going to some kind of group therapy. At least I’m pretty sure he is.”  
”Not like you to have secrets from each other.”  
”Well, it’s not like we’ve had any major ones until now…”  
  
Charles makes a grimaze.  
  
”Sorry.”  
  
Billy just shrugs.  
  
”I know you didn’t mean it like that, Chaz. And you’re right. Before this, we didn’t have any… _dark_ secrets.”  
”Is he talking now?”  
”Depends on how you see it, I guess. I know more and he’s talking to his psychologist and, I assume, the support group. It helps, I mean, I can see that it does but man, he gets so fucking exhausted from it.”  
”Does he know about our… thing?”  
”No. He suspects I’m keeping a secret from him, but I don’t think he has the energy to push me about it. Feels like I’m using that to my advantage.”  
  
Charles raises his eyebrows.  
  
”Aint that exactly what you’re doing?”  
”You mean what any husband would?”  
”I’d say you’re not handling this like ’any husband’ would, Billy. Had it been Elle, I’d probably simply just break into the assholes house and cut his dick off. Don’t think most of us would do it like you do. And speaking of it, how does it work?”  
”I’m pretty sure they’re on edge.”  
”And what about Ned? You plan on never telling him?”  
  
Billy bites his lip. This is the one thing he’s unsure of. If Ned hadn’t told him not to do anything, Billy is pretty sure he’d crossed the line far earlier and in a much more permanent way. Ned has never really asked him to do or not do anything in particular except from keeping out of prison. And by not asking for details despite how obvious it is that Billy’s hiding something from him, Ned is using that as a perfectly good reason to create a distance between them.  
  
The bland ham sandwich he’s having for lunch is only half-eaten and honestly, Billy doesn’t have his usual appetite. It’s hard to explain why he’s not doing like most people would do, if their partner or someone else they love, would go through what Ned has to, and not using the knowledge Billy has to just beat the shit out of the assholes responsible for it. Charles strokes his unruly hair back.  
  
”Look, Billy, I know it’s not just about what Ned wants or what any of you feel is the right thing to do.”  
  
The café is not among the most popular lunch places and Billy is very grateful for that right now. He’s been trying to avoid this topic, avoid thinking about it and pretending it holds no meaning to him. But Charles is his best friend and he knows Billy.  
  
”You were in love with Woodes, for fucks sake.”  
”We only went on a few dates.”  
”Yeah, but you were still high over heels, Billy.”  
”I wasn’t.”  
”You absolutely were. Not for long, but still. I mean, he was charming as _hell_ at first. Not even John looked through him and he’s a human X-ray. Woodes is a psychopath and you’re not the first one to get fooled by one. He did this to get back on you for turning him down. Psychopaths can’t stand being rejected, you know. And they don’t feel remorse.”  
  
Billy doesn’t want to think about his short time with Woodes. It was only a few dates, that’s true, but they weren’t like other dates Billy’s had. Dinners with Woodes meant being taken to fancy restaurants, getting sweet text messages and unexpected flower deliveries. It meant sitting by a table or on the sofa, holding hands while Woodes looked into Billy’s eyes like he was the eight wonder of the world and feeling like all other guys he’d been in love with, were trash compared to this dreamboat.  
  
But with a psychopath, which Billy on some level knows, it’s never about love or real care. Other people are only means to an end, tools to feel good, powerful and superior. Psychopaths don’t give flowers, take you to dinner or listen to you to make you feel loved and special. It’s always about them and the moment they feel unappreciated or threatened in any way, things can get really unpleasant. Psychopaths hold grudge for life, even for the smallest injustice and even if it’s not an injustice at all. And this is why Billy is still so unsure about this.  
  
Woodes knows that Billy knows and _if_ he’s a psychopath, things could get worse if this vengeance continues. Billy rubs his face.  
  
”I don’t know, Chaz. If he’s a psychopath, I mean a real fucking psychopath as in the medical sense, maybe we’re not scaring him with this. What if he comes after Ned again in some way?”  
”You think he’s a real psychopath?”  
”Honestly, I don’t know. Fuck, I want to keep on doing this, I want him and the other cunts to pay for this but…”  
”Psychopaths aren’t patient though. It’s been four months, Billy, and he’s not tried to sabotage things for you, I mean, more than he already has. Right?”  
”Yeah.”  
”What we’re doing to him, looks quite random. Stuff that could happen to anyone.”  
”Except from certain postcards I send him…”  
”Postcards?”  
”I just write ’I know’ on them and send them every now and then. Not done it for a while, though.”  
”Good. Don’t send anymore of them.”  
”And let him think he’s won?”  
  
Charles just snorts.  
  
”Won? Do you have any idea what we’ve done to him the last weeks, Billy? We’ve practically ruined his social life, not to mention his job, and he has absolutely no evidence we’re doing it.”  
”How?”  
”Because of James, of course. And John. Even if Woodes would suspect you, he’s still a fucking coward and since you’re not accusing him openly for anything, it’s a really stupid move for him to defend himself against things he’s not been accused of. He doesn’t feel remorse, but he’s clever enough to understand you have a lot of eyes on him that could cause far more damage than he’s comfortable with.”  
”But what’s that got to do with James?”  
”Seriously, Billy? James is way more clever than Woodes and he’s one of the best hackers in England. Not only is it more or less impossible to trace anything back to us, it’s also a huge risk to take, since it’s not hard for James to make it far worse. Child pornography on the work computor would be difficult even for Woodes to explain… ”  
  
Billy just stares at him.  
  
”Are you serious? Did James…”  
”No, he hasn’t. Calm down. But he _could_ and the point is to make Woodes aware of that.”  
”Jesus, Chaz…”  
”You want to call it off, just say so, Billy. We wont keep doing it if you think it’s not worth it. We’re ruining his social life and making him feel on edge. _All_ of them. The chicks too. You know James has access to their Facebook accounts, e-mails and stuff?”  
”What if they find out? It’s still illegal.”  
  
Charles’ eyes go dark and he gets an unusually hard expression on his face.  
  
”So is what they did to Ned.”


	33. Ned (1st person)

This is my thing. Even if there are other people here and Anne’s sitting in a corner, it’s still mine. I still keep to the back, still can’t make myself talking to anyone and I still need Maread with me, but I’ve learnt to shut the social anxiety off. I no longer care if the other participants think I’m weird or rude. As long as they don’t try to pet Maread, and they don’t, I feel calm.  
  
I’m re-learning to feel where my limits are. My body is no longer in constant battle with me and I’ve started to reckognize myself again a little. My muscles aren’t quite as stiff, my joints don’t feel like they’re about to burst and with Maread near I can close my eyes and feel safe. Loosing myself in the moment again.  
  
I can feel my breathing go a little faster and how Maread is coming closer, putting her paw on my foot. She’s my golden guardian, taking my breath down so quickly I hardly feel the shifting. It’s only my second class and it’s definately not as easy as it looks, but I fucking like it. I even tend to forget about the other people here after a while. I only hear the calm instructions, the soft and warm voice. No one has any reason to touch me or accidently bump into me. There is enough space that should the people closest to me stumble in my direction, they still wouldn’t touch me.   
  
I’m the only man but there’s an older woman with almost white hair taking part. She doesn’t seem the least ashamed of herself even if most of the other participants are young with well-toned bodies and beautiful skin. Suddenly, I feel a lot less self-conscius. None of these women would look twice after me except for my artificial eye or the service dog harness on Maread. And being one-eyed with a service dog is definately not a chick magnet.   
  
It’s really hard doing the excersises that require more balance but I do my own versions of them, trying to remember Anne’s words about not feeling the pressure of doing things perfectly and that no one is looking at or judging me if I don’t make it. The most painful in this, is being reminded of how lithe I used to be. It feels as if I’m never going to get my body back in full.  
  
Inhale. Exhale. Listen to your body.   
  
What if your body is talking shit or doesn’t talk at all? I can’t feel my lower back. It’s completely numb and I’m grateful we’re switching to a sitting exercise. We only do standing positions very shortly, as a warm up, and it’s so much easier to relax once I don’t have to worry about my balance anymore. And it doesn’t hurt. Maread has moved to sit behind me, pressed to my back, giving warmth and support. I don’t lean back onto her of course, but the feeling of her presence is enough to make me relax more.  
  
Inhale. Exhale. Listen to your body.  
  
No one is here to check on me. It’s not a part of some official recovery plan and I’m paying for it myself. My husband didn’t suggest it, our friends aren’t helping me pay for it, my doctor didn’t prescribe it and my therapist didn’t help me find it. This is all mine even if the original idea came from doctor Howell and Anne helped me going from idea to actually trying it.   
  
Inhale. Exhale. Listen to your body.  
  
I need this. Need to rebuild my fucking borders because no matter how ungrateful and evil I feel for feeling this, all this help sometimes feel like an intrusion. It dissolves as much as it supports me and apart from the punching bag Billy gave me, I have no one to punish and hurt for what’s happened to me and even if I had, I’m a weak and skinny bag of shaky bones who can’t even run anymore without earning at least one day in bed for it.  
  
Maread’s nudging me and my mind returns to the yoga studio. Inhale. Exhale. Listen to your body. Remembering it’s no longer in that car, on that road. It’s not been drugged and it’s not being tossed around, no one’s tearing my clothes open… _Maread, Maread…_ Anne’s slowly walking over to me, not touching but waiting until I look up and she makes a sign asking if I want her to sit with me. I do.   
  
Am I just a fucking wanker for wanting Anne to support my back by sitting behind me? Should I’ve stayed home until I know I can do this by myself?  
  
Inhale. Exhale. Listen to your body.  
  
I’m not in the woods, not on the road and I’m not alone. I can do this even if I no longer can bend half as far as before. I’m on my fucking way, even if I’m currently sitting in the same spot.


	34. Billy (1st person)

French onion soup. Mini apple tarts with ice cream. Winter food even if it’s spring. Because you’re frozen and I need to feel useful. Because I know you love it. The kitchen feels empty, I miss you even if you’re coming home soon.  Miss having Maread around, waving her tail on the kitchen rug. And I admit I’m a little worried. I’ve promised not snooping and I know you need to keep taking steps outwards. This is good, I remind myself, trying to picture how bad it was just a couple of months ago, but as I set the table and put the bread to warm in the oven, I feel less and less calm.  
  
I feel ridiculous. I’m your husband, not some bloody guardian and this is exactly what irks you, and me. I don’t want to feel like I have to watch over you. You’re a grown man, four years older than me and with a service dog going with you, for fucks sake.  
  
While waiting, I put some music on and open the mail. A couple of bills, some commercial, the new copy of _Terrorizer_ , a metal mag you’re subscribed to, with your housegods Behemoth on the front and I almost throw it in the trash because I don’t want you to see anything that might trigger your memories from that night. Then, before I make any decisions I might regret later, I hear the door and your voice.  
  
”Billy?”  
”I’m here, hon.”  
  
God, you look amazing. Maread of course love attacks me and you laugh at us, your cheeks are rosy and your eye bright. Tired, definately, but happier. You take your jacket off, tells Maread to calm down and as I hug you, you nuzzle my chest and I can feel you’re smiling.  
  
”Ye’re making apple tarts?”  
”That I am.”  
”And am I allowed to taste or are ye saving them for yer spare husband?”  
”Oh, about that… I kinda filed for divorce, you know.”  
”Poor man.”  
”He took it quite well, I think. Only smashed a few plates and screamed that I’d ruined his life.”  
”Quite the rude feen, huh. Gotta be more careful with the next.”  
  
Spare husband. One of our earliest inside jokes that stuck around. You’re so pretty today I have a difficult time keeping my hands to myself. I want to cuddle so badly because I feel, see, smell less of the trauma and more of _you_ today. It makes me forget for a little while, as if it’s only you and me in the whole world, safe in our bubble, if just for a fleeting moment.  
  
Is it a good thing that I’m so used to your tears now, I hardly react? I don’t have to ask, I know you had a good time, as good as trauma therapy can get and I can feel it. Don’t even have to look at Maread for guidance. She sits patiently by your side, a silent translator between your nightmares and our marriage. And not that I’ve been counting, at least not deliberately, but I could swear it takes shorter time for your tears to dry. I’m counting my blessings, putting yet another treasure among my memories to look at later. Because yes, you’re crying, but I know with every fucking bit of me it’s not the bad kind of tears and as your strenght builds up again they will decrease. The spine under your hoodie will straighten out, move softly and with ease, being covered with flesh again.  
  
I believe it. I have to, I don’t have a choice. So I ignore the tears and marvel in silence over your neck. Today it doesn’t crack when you’re leaning into me.


End file.
